


A Guy Like Me

by CousinNick



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Everyone is either trans or Queer heh, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Queer representation yo, Trans, Trans Jean, Trans Male Character, Transgender, shameless fluff, shit ton of pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinNick/pseuds/CousinNick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein is not your normal average guy. He enjoys 90's punk music, eating copious amounts of Cheetos, and is also transgender. Yeah, that last one gave him a bit more complications than the others when it came to his romantic life. But, when life seemed to complicate itself even more, Jeans friends try to get him to cheer up by taking him to a club with some new people. Jean, though reluctant, humors his friends. </p><p>That night he meets Marco Bott, your all American normal average guy who enjoys blue-grass music, eating copious amounts of black licorice, and who is cisgender. </p><p>They hit it off immediately.</p><p>Or, </p><p>A modern AU in which Marco Bott is thrown into the deep end of trans101 and is rewarded handsomely for his troubles by kisses from his new boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hyenas

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know if I should include definitions for certain terms, but if people want a reminder, I could always add it into the next notes column.  
> I started this story because I really loved the idea of Trans Jean (Which is the best Jean, heh), because as a trans guy, I loved the idea of having a well-known character in a great show being trans. That's how this fic was born! Plus, JeanMarco is the best, am I right?  
> Special thanks to my girlfriend for encouraging me to write this!

All in all, Jean should have know it was a bad idea to assume. Assume that the cute guy that seemed to be winking at him suggestively -- he wasn’t, the harsh light in the café was just making his eyes irritated -- and smiling at him -- he was just glad to have his after work pick-me-up of caffeine -- was flirting with him.  
  
It was a whopping cluster-fuck of a mistake on Jeans part, he knew that now. Writing his number and some stupid little pick up line on the guys medium Americano with two pumps of hazelnut syrup in big bolded sharpie that displayed just how shitty his chicken-scratch handwriting was.  
  
He knew he should not have read too deeply into the guys relaxed and open face, he knew he was asking for trouble right from the moment his heart began to spasm slightly, the tell tale signs of attraction. But that seemed to be how Jean operated -- always causing trouble even when he knew he shouldn’t. He was a coward at best, so when he was bold, shit usually hit the fan, big time. He should have listened to his tightening gut and nausea flushed face. He shouldn’t have assumed.  
  
He caused trouble for his boss and his fellow employees, made them lose a paying customer, and though he knew Hanji would never blame him, he couldn’t help but feel he let the whole team down. All because he couldn’t just give the guy his fucking coffee and leave it at that.  
  
What transpired happened very quickly, that was the only merciful thing about the interaction.  
  
After giving the perspective romantic interest his coffee, Jean literally saw the mans dimpled smile falter as his gray-blue eyes fixed themselves of the black letters seemingly branded into the shitty cardboard cup holder.  
  
Jean had the sudden urge to claw his hands back onto the cup and fling the tainted coffee -- the bane of his existence -- into the trash and just make the guy a normal brew, no strings attached at all.  
  
But, life was not fair to Jean Kirschtein, and instead, what happened next ultimately wrecked and ruined the two toned blond.  
  
“Uh… Oh, sorry, but, uh… I don’t date…Trannies.” Just like that, the guy smiled somewhat sheepishly, before he quickly paid for his drink -- not waiting for change -- and hurried out of the shop and on his way. The bells above the door dinged and tinkled, signaling the guys passing and the start of Jeans mental breakdown.  
  
In that moment, Jean Kirschtein wanted to do one of two things -- yank the guy back by his ugly colored tie to step on his throat, or cry on the dirty and sticky café work station floor till he just dissolved into the tile and woodwork like a frappe soaking into the floor.  
  
Luckily, his boss, who had seen the massive failure and wounded look on zher employees face, tugged Jean into the back of the staff room.  
  
Jean could barely register Auruo and Mike, standing dumbstruck through the whole ordeal, suddenly pick up arms, as you will, and took over Jeans station, whipping out lattes and chai teas like nobodies business. Jean saw out of the corner of his eye Gunther with his stupid ass haircut smiling worryingly at Jean before he went back to mopping around the back of the store. Jean knew none of his coworkers would ever discuss this disaster in front of Jean, but behind his back? Well, Jean wasn’t so sure. Sensitivity training could only go so far.  
  
Still reeling and feeling more than a little sick, he sniffed into his bosses work apron, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate lulling him into a false sense of security as his boss sat him down on the immaculately clean, thanks to Levi, employee couch.  
  
“Want anything?” Zhe asked zher wide eyed employee quietly, slightly worried for his safety at that moment -- this wasn’t the first time Jeans transgender status had been discovered at work, and zhe knew it wasn’t going to be the last. Zher usually characteristically widened smile was replaced with a thin line of zher lips. Zhe pressed zher glasses up against zher face, gaze trying to catch Jeans own unfocused one.  
  
Jean shook his head at the kind offer, staring at his hands that seemed to be looking smaller. He brought his nails to his gaze and found that they had been growing a bit longer than he wanted them, was that what gave him away? Jean opened his mouth and closed it tightly with a click of his teeth. He barely winced at the pain. Was it his voice? But he had been doing those speech therapy vides Connie had found for him and the hormone therapy seemed to curb his normally high voice quite nicely. Jean furrowed his brows, becoming more panicked by the second. Was it that his binder wasn’t tight enough? Jeans eyes widened before narrowing, teeth clenching behind his lips.  
  
Jeans hands instantly fiddled with the apron tie strapped at his waist, undoing it clumsily before he shoved his hands up and under his T-shirt, nails digging into his side and he tried to tighten the metal hooks on his binder. He felt the air slowly leave his lungs as he cinched himself up tighter and tighter and tighter --  
  
Hanji clucked zher tongue in a disappointed manner before zhe shooed Jeans hands away from his chest before he could do personal damage to his ribs and bruise them.  
  
“Jean, I think it’s best if we send you home. You’ve been putting in so many extra hours at the café, I think it’s time I rewarded my star newbie with a day off.” Hanji tried to smile but it came out brittle, but still, Zhe tried and that was enough for Jean.  
  
Taking time to breathe again, he shamefully pulled his hands out from underneath his shirt, embarrassed that Hanji had to seem him at his most vulnerable. Untangling himself from his work apron, he bunched it in his fists, his knuckles turning whiter and whiter by the second from his hastened grip.  
  
“I just thought everything was going so well…” Jean whispered as he let Hanji help him up from the sunken couch cushions, his voice seeming so distant and so very lost. Hanji sighed, trying zher best to put on zher more cheerful of smiles. Zhe knew Jean didn’t mean his prospect at his chance a date -- Jean was an awkward flirter -- but more along the lines of his failure today at passing as cisgender.  
  
“I know”, zhe nodded, “dysphoria, when it hits, it really hits.” Zhe walked over to the employee coat racks and produced Jeans tattered work backpack, taking the light olive green apron in Jeans grip and placed it in the satchel, zipping it up tight before Jeans grip could twist it and rip it beyond repair.  
  
Leading Jean out of the small and somewhat cozy room that smelled like disinfectant, Hanji clapped him on the back.  
  
“It’s a Friday night, take some time for yourself -- I know animal planet is having a special on Africans wild scavengers and hunters this week!” Zhe proclaimed with great vigor. His bosses love of all things animal and all things biological made Jean slip a real smile past his clammy and cold lips. Hanji, working at the community college down the road in the Biological anthropology department, seemed to always push zher employees into taking an interests in the strange or unusual. This wasn’t the first time Jean had found himself shrugging of zher offer to go watch another film, like March of the Penguins, at the Imax theater for the fourth time. Jean could only try and nod this time, feeling the tell-tale signs of saddens slowly take its place in his mind.  
  
“Thanks, Hanji.”  
  
Zhe winked, smiling before zhe turned to Levi and Mike who were wiping down the counters -- the café filled with happy customers sipping at their sugary drinks, getting ready to face the indigo night sky that was encroaching itself over the town. Jean almost envied them.  
  
“Hey, Mike, think you could hook Jean up with a PSL, and Levi -- send him off with some of those banana nut muffins?” Zhe looked to the two men before, with a comical salute, Mike nodded, getting to work on the pumpkin spice concoction, leaving Levi to grumble and pull out a brown paper bag and some tongs. He hated touching anything in the store without those stupid plastic things. Jean almost huffed out a chuckle but thought better of it, knowing laughing at the shorter male would not end well for him.  
  
Hanji was such a good boss, Jean quietly thought, sending him home and with some of his favorite goodies from the shop.  
  
Still, he awkwardly shifted from foot to foot as he watched Mike make his drink, Levi having long since shoved four good sized muffins in a crisp paper bag in his face. It felt weird being behind the shop in civilian clothes, and he was eager to get home and just mope around or maybe cry in the shower -- one of his favorite past times when stupid fucking dysphoria hit. Though, none of those methods really helped, they just let him prolong his thoughts as best as they could.  
Jean scratched the back of his neck. Ah, this sucked big time.  
  
Hanji, sensing zher employees discomfort level rising, handed him his finished drink, still being topped off with whip cream, and shooshed him out the door with a squeeze to his shoulder.  
  
That was how Jean found himself at home, trying to calm himself down by moping and throwing himself a much needed pity party. Finding that he had already drunk half of his slowly cooling drink, he settled himself down on the apartments comfy couch, ultimately deciding to watch animal planet as his boss suggested and eat his muffins and slurp the rest of his pumpkin deliciousness in quiet sadness on the couch.  
  
That was, until Connie decided to come home from his work at the art studio.  
  
Four minutes into the animal planet special about Africa’s hunters -- this episode dedicated to a more than disturbing looking pack -- pride? Gang? Herd? -- of Hyenas (Jean would have to ask Hanji the technical term later), Connie made his entrance known by slamming the front door nice and loudly.  
  
Jean winced slightly, hoping his short and bald roommate would just let him sulk in peace.  
  
Surprisingly, the shorter man seemed to do just that. Though shuffling could be heard in the kitchen, Connie apparently thought better than entering the living room where a moody Jean resided, and instead opted for holing himself in the kitchen for the time being.  
  
Smart move for once, Springer. Jean thought as he went back to angrily glaring at the screen as the narrator explained that female hyenas were the dominant members of the pack and how, due to their genitals looking remarkably similar to their male counterparts, used their erections socially and as a form of dominance. Jean gritted his teeth. So, if a female hyena wanted to have a dick, she could? But here Jean was stuck with a fucking lump of rubber jammed in his pants? Greaaaaaat.  
  
Grumbling once more about the unfairness of life and how he was jealous of a fucking animal, Jean went back to munching on the remaining muffins, scratching his crotch longingly and not caring that he was getting crumbs all over his face and clothes.  
  
Meanwhile, Connie, squatting behind the kitchenette like some kind of 007 agent, was busy observing his roommate, texting silently on his phone to his other roommate and girlfriend, Sasha.  
  
Imagine the bald mans surprise upon coming home from his job at his art studio, to find that Jean, his best friend since high school, was in one of his foul ‘breathe on me or even enter my peripheral vision and I will eat you’ moods. Connie, who was an upcoming and successful sculptor who usually made enough in a month from one piece to help pay his part of the rent (However, don’t think to highly of the little bald mans skills -- he mostly was a professional bull-shitter, spending half of the month sculpting giant penises before actually settling down on some nice and “wholesome” piece of art.), knew to access the situation carefully before even thinking about making contact with Jean.  
  
Nibbling at his lip, Connie shot a text back to Sasha, informing her that Jean was in one of his unstable and irritable mindsets and this time it looked bad, like, really bad.  
  
After a small ping from his phone, Sasha informed Connie that Ymir was talking over the last minutes of her shift and so she was free to come home to help the situation on any way she could. Connie silently thanked the Gods for blessing him with this wonderfully awesome woman, before he sunk back against one of the kitchen floor cabinets. He wouldn’t have to deal with a fire breathing Jean alone, perfect.  
  
Peeking out from the countertop, Connie spied Jean still glaring angrily at the female Hyenas on the screen as they finished eating dead antelope scraps. Jean was muttering prissily about female Hyenas and dicks, and though the catches of the others words were so fascinatingly creepy to the shorter man, Connie silently felt relief wash over him as he heard the apartment door creak open.  
  
“Fucking finally”, he sighed happily as Sasha, well educated in the art of not pissing off a dysphoric Jean, sunk down next to Connie on the kitchen floor, having hung up her Chef uniform jacket, keys still twirling in her hand as she swallowed what seemed to be the last of a hunk of bread from work.  
  
“What’s the sitch?” She asked, wrapping her arms around her knees as she squatted next to her boyfriend.  
  
Connie, after giggling at the Kim possible reference, poked a finger in Jeans direction who was still on the couch, absently scratching his crotch, a subtle signal that Connie and Sasha had taken to mean that Jean was more angry than he was fragile at this moment.  
  
The amount of observing and dedication to learning their transgender friends moods and mannerisms -- and where his hands were on his crotch -- was finally coming in handy to the pair. Heh. Handy. Heh, Pair. Connie and Sasha snickered.  
  
“Does he have a coffee cup with him?” Sasha whispered to Connie. The other man shot his head out behind the counter, quickly turning back to Sasha and nodding.  
  
“Think it’s hot tea? Time of the month?” Connie mumbled, but his girlfriend seemed to narrow her eyes.  
  
“No, that can’t be it… His Shark Week doesn’t start for another week or so…” Sasha hummed, deep in thought as she tried to puzzle the pieces together behind Jeans down-trodden state.  
  
“Work related then?” Connie suggested, and Sasha seemed to consider this before she made a motion of agreement.  
  
“He was probably trying to flirt and it ended badly, that or someone let a pronoun slip.”  
  
Connie sighed, finding that the most plausible explanation. “So then, what do we do, huh?”  
  
After watching Jean for a few more seconds, Sasha nodded once to herself in a determined manner, her thick wine reddish hair frothing about her face as she turned back to her own phone.  
  
Humming, she started to text rapidly, her hands moving at speeds that even made Connie dizzy. After what seemed like only a few minutes, she seemed to have gotten the results she wanted. Turning to Connie, she grinned -- a few breadcrumbs left over from her after-work snack falling from her chin. Connie fought the urge to brush them off.  
  
“Okay, so, here’s the plan. I’m inviting a few friends from work out tonight — try and get Jean into a party mood.” She smirked, clicking one more button on her phone before she shoved it back into the pocket of her ash gray slacks.  
  
In response to her plan, Connie shied his eyes away from her to set his gaze on Jean, biting his lip in worry.  
  
Finally, balking at the task that he would have to shoulder as Jean seemed to get read y to lunge at the television screen with bared teeth, Connie rapidly shook his head to and fro, earning a frown from Sasha.  
  
“Hah, dude, no. He’ll bite my hand off and or noogie my head — my head is hairless, Sasha, there is no hair to cushion a Kierschtein noogie.” Connie whined, his hands coming up to rub protectively at his bald head. His whimpering and pleading fell on deaf ears, though.  
  
Hushing him with a kiss to his adorably small button nose, Sasha took his hands away from atop his head, kissing each knuckle. He seemed to calm down, sniffing only slightly.  
  
“I just made reservations at that fancy bar that Reiner, Berlt, and Annie work at — they can get us in — which means you need to get Jean party worthy in…” She smiled and checked the time on her phone with a click, “Two hours.”  
  
Connie groaned, fidgeting nervously. But, he knew that anything to try and help Jean get out of this funk would be worth it so, and with much dramatic skulking, he slithered up to Jean on the couch.  
  
Sitting himself down carefully, eyes flickering to the jaws of the female hyena on the screen, he turned to Jean.  
  
“Hey, Jean—”  
  
“You’re not getting one of my muffins, Springer.” Came the instant reply.  
  
Connie frowned sourly, knowing fully well that he didn’t come for a muffin but now he really wanted a fucking muffin.  
  
“Ugh, fine, you selfish dick.” He mumbled, half jokingly, settling himself into the worn out couch. Connie knew the insult would actually have the opposite affect on the two toned blond. Comparing his friend to a dick was one of the many ways to make Jean weirdly happy, and so that’s what Connie did. Fist phase of kicking-Jeans-dysphoria-in-the-ass is a go.  
  
Jean smiled softly for a moment, before he remembered suddenly that he was supposed to be pissed off and just a tad — okay a lot — sad.  
  
“Fuck off, Connie. I’m wallowing.” He snapped, this time the vigor in his words softening some. He was losing a hold on his anger, and fast. Shit.  
  
Connie sighed happily, sensing a breech in Jeans behavior that the littler man could easily weasel his way into.  
  
Swatting the tv remote out of his roommates hand as Jean tried to raise the volume on the tv for the fourth time — Connie could only take the sound of a hyenas laughter for so fucking long -- the bald man threw the remote far away from Jeans grabby hands.  
  
“Look, grumpy pants, we’re going out tonight, and you’re going whether you like it or not.” The shorter man declared, jumping up from the couch like a god damn monkey and yanking Jean up by his bared bicep. The seated angry man growled like a lion having been prodded with a stick.  
  
“No.”  
  
“C’mooooon.” Connie resorted to whining, his personal specialty.  
  
Jean visibly winced, and, because the guys voice before him was so fucking shrill, Jean finally inched up out of his seat and allowed his roommate to drag him out of the living room. The sounds of yipping hyenas grew farther and farther away.  
  
“Where are we going?” He grumbled, allowing the little avatar-look-alike to pull him into Jeans own vaguely cluttered room where they finally stopped at his small little closet stuffed with mostly flannel, punk rock band t-shirts, and old high school sweatshirts that still fit the taller man.  
  
“Okay, so, like… your closet is full of ugly punk shit, make it go away”, Connie wiggled his fingers disdainfully at the closet. Jean had to fight the urge to drag him out of his room by the nape of his neck.  
  
“Do you want me to go out in public with you guys tonight or not?” Jean bristled instead, sitting himself at the edge of his bed to disdainfully pick at the gathered lint on his comforter. Connie sighed dramatically, slinking down against the closet door frame and everything.  
  
“Not even three seasons of Americas Next Top Model could help me pull off something even remotely sexy with your wardrobe,” yet the mans hands were already snatching at T-shirts and jackets, button ups and slacks, humming or gawking at them in turn.  
  
Jean huffed and let the little monkey of a man make an even bigger mess of his closet. He’d make Connie fix it later, with a threat of a noogie looming over the others head if he didn’t.  
  
After a big heap of clothes was unceremoniously dumped on Jeans messy bed, Connie began to mix and match the throw-up pile of clothes till he finally giggled in happiness at his final choice. Picking up a long sleeved gray button up that was only slightly wrinkled at the collar, and a black smooth vest with shiny metal buttons, Connie grinned.  
  
“Okay, horse face, put this on.” All of the sudden Connie threw a pair of gray skinny jeans at Jeans face and, making a “chop-chop, time is a wasting!” hand movement, he left Jean to his own devises.  
  
Jean huffed in annoyance as he got up, tying to find one of his binders that didn’t smell like three months worth of body odor and metaphorical desperation.  
  
But just as Connie was about to leave Jean to some much needed peace and quiet, he stuck his shiny head back out from behind the taller males door.  
  
“Also, bring your game tonight, Kirschtein — Sasha’s inviting some friends from work. Cute gaaaaaay friends.” Connie motioned his grin to Jeans dresser drawer where he knew Jean kept his various packers and harnesses. The taller mans face instantly erupted into an off-shade of red that clamored up from his neck to rest at his cheeks.  
  
“God damn it, Connie, get the fuck out of my room!” Jean sputtered nervously, picking up a sock and getting ready to lob it at the others head.  
  
Connie threw back his head and laughed for all of three seconds before Jean threw the smelly roll of socks at his nose— that caused the little shit to quickly run away, leaving Jean with some peace and quiet.  
  
“…Now where did I put that harness…?” He muttered to himself.


	2. Swagger like Jaeger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Large amounts of alcohol + Ke$ha + cute freckled guy = a very happy Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, I have no grasp on the concepts of Pop Culture. Also, I still haven't gotten used to posting stuff here, so I apologize for the lack of italics where there should be some.

Jeans shitty white Subaru grumbled as it died, a low whine puttering from the engine before its life was cut by the turn of a key. Twisting himself in his seat, Jean unbuckled his seatbelt, the boos and whines from the backseat ringing in his ears.  
  
Jean, much to the displeasure of Sasha and Connie, stopped the car right as one of their favorite songs, Thrift Shop, came blaring on the radio. It was a classic among the two, and they always sang it with great vigor whenever it came on, however, Jean was a party pooper and really wanted to get in, get some liquor in his system, and go home to watch some dumb reality show on tv. Ah, the perfect night. But, still, Connie and Sasha groaned and gripped, kicking Jeans back seat like the five year olds that they were.  
  
“You know you just want to scream the words ‘what up? I got a big cock,’ as loud as you can because the lyrics give you an excuse to.” Jean snorted. Connie managed to pull off a deeply offended look in Jeans direction. The little man gasped, faux hurt in his eyes.  
  
“Do you honestly think we are that immature, Jean Kirschtein, King of the drunken ‘tik-tok’ mating dance?” Connie mocked, unbuckling himself from his seat as if the strap was a set of Kraken tentacles he was battling. After freeing himself from the snap of the belt buckle he hummed in victory.  
  
Jean narrowed his eyes. “That was one time and it was your fault anyway for spiking the punch bowls at that party. You know how I get when Ke$ha comes on…” Jean grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to wipe off the embarrassed blush forming on his cheeks. Connie only burst out laughing, singing a shitty rendition of tik tok as Jean tried to make a grab for him, hoping to ring his neck or bash his head into the car fender.  
  
“That was a dry campus, damn it, Springer!” Jean roared as Connie dodged yet another half-hearted attempt at snatching the giggling little man.  
  
“Whatever, man, I just hope the DJ takes requests -- I think the world is ready for your sick dance moves after all those years, heh.” Connie snorted. Jean, feeling the fight taken out of him at his friends goofy looking smile, only laughed along.  
  
“As much as I love talking about embarrassing things Jean does, why don’t we try to actually get into the club, so we can make more precious memories,” Sasha quipped, holding up her video phone, “and record those priceless memories for posterity… and blackmail.” She grinned towards both the males as they followed her off the black asphalt and onto the slightly dirty city sidewalk.  
  
Kicking a gum wrapper out of his way, Jean followed the bubbly pair to the club entrance, shivering slightly from the cold.  
  
“As long as Connie keeps his clothes on, nothing could be more embarrassing than that one time he hosted a gallery with an open bar.” Jean visibly shuddered.  
  
Sasha snorted at the mention of the event, taking out her wallet to fish out her ID. “Nakedness never looked so artsy.” She grinned towards Connie who just grumbled, taking out his own identification from his scuffed Jeans a size too big. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up -- I sold three pieces that night!”  
  
“Yeah, at the price of your dignity.” Jean sniggered, making a grab for Connies head, noogying him slightly.  
  
Connie slunk out of his best friends grip, laughing loudly.  
  
All in all they only had to wait in line for a few seconds, as, contrary to how Sasha revered and spoke highly of the Shingeki no Kyojin, or, Attack on Titan, club, it really wasn’t that different from your average dance spot. There was a large bar off to the side, small set of seating off to the corner, and a pretty small dance floor, sunken into the ground slightly so that it resembled what Sasha excitingly claimed as trenches.  
  
Along those lines, the décor of the club was a little more, uh… themed, if one had to describe it. The inside was modeled to look like some strategic military setting, with the bar looking like an upturned bunker and where plastic grenades dangled on wire above the patrons. Various camouflage nettings and brush littered the ceiling where strobe lights, usually of varying colors of violent reds and oranges, pulsed and reigned down above the dance floor. The important thing was, at least to Jean, was that they had a well stoked bar, and, being friends with the bartenders behind it, it was instantly a favorite hang out spot for all three of them.  
  
Rubbing his cold hands together and silently pitying himself for not wearing gloves, Jean shuffled along with his friends till they came to the front of the line.  
  
Connie, breathing into his hands to warm them up from the early autumn chill, smiled and grinned at one of the bouncers at the club entrance. Annie, sniffing her characteristically big nose, spared a small, miniscule smile to the group. Shuffling her hands out of her gray sweatshirt, she waved a hand towards the group, a motion to come forward.  
  
Next to Annie, standing awfully rigid, was some kid Jean didn’t recognize. He was tall, broad, and had the worst haircut Jean had ever seen -- it was even more hideous then Gunthers’-- and that was truly saying something in the history of worst fuckups in hair.  
  
Staring up at the tall guy with the shiniest jet black hair Jean had ever seen, combed and cut to a perfect bowl cut, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated. Sure, Annie was ruthless and terrifying in her own right and in her own neutrally aggressive way, but Jean could always count on her to have a shred of lax when it came to her friends -- this guy didn’t seem like one to bend the rules. What a prick.  
  
“Hi, Annie!” Sasha hummed, flickering her ID at the blondes face. Annie barely looked at it -- it was more for show anyway, and all three of them knew it. Since Annie was one of the best bouncers the club had ever had, she barely had to make an effort to card each and everyone of them. But, Sasha and Connie, not wanting their friend to get in trouble with her higher ups, showed her their cards anyway. It was just routine. However, Jean himself was usually exemplified from such procedure, for specific and certainly fragile good reasons. One example as such being that his name on his drivers licenses and the little blot under “sex” was a little… less than accurate.  
  
Connie, ahead of Jean, smirked at the tall man standing rigidly next to Annie. He seemed to have a permanent frown etched onto his thick lips, his eyes shining brightly against the street lamp lights overhead. “Who’s the goon?” Connie grinned, flicking his card at the two.  
  
The guy visibly tensed, probably thinking of wiping that smirk off of Connie's stupid monkey-looking face just for fun. But a swift bush of Annie’s hand at her cascading bangs silenced his itching hand movements.  
  
“It’s not worth it, Marlo, just let the little bald man have his fun.” There was a certain teasing in Annie’s voice that Jean could barely pick up on, but still, it was there. Let it not be said that Annie had no sense of humor, it was just usually well masked and…. Scary.  
  
Marlo, as the guy was soon identified as, merely huffed, sneering at Connie as he made a face at the two bouncers good naturedly before he shuffled through the clubs doors to find Sasha. Waving to Jean as he passed, he disappeared into a cloud of strobe lights, smoke, and the prideful voice of Kanye West.  
  
“Hey, Annie,” Jean mumbled, smiling uneasily at the girl before she, with cold blue eyes, only nodded once, a flicker of a greeting smirk on her cold bitten lips.  
  
Jean nodded back to her in a silent gesture of what appeared to be solidarity but was actually much more, and, grabbing the club door handle, was about to walk in when --  
  
“Hey, he didn’t show ID.” Marlo grunted, side stepping in front of Jean to block the club entrance doors. Annie didn’t move from her post, seemingly looking over what appeared to be a clip board all ruffled with paper and notes. She sniffed once more into the cold air.  
  
“He doesn’t need ID.” She muttered, voice neutral and yet conveying a sense of authority that Marlo, her apprentice, seemed to hone in on. However, Marlo appeared to be much less than a pushover than Jean thought, as he still held fast.  
  
“But--”, he tried to argue, but Annie cut him off with a swift look, sharper than any blade and colder than any steel. Her beautiful blue eyes shone like ice.  
  
“Kirschtein gets certain club privileges.” Her voice left no room for argument. Turning her head back to the club door, she jerked her gaze to the entrance, signally that Jean was free to move. The two toned blond, not wanting to freeze his ass off any more than he had to, took a step forward but Marlo was still in his way, the stubborn jackass.  
  
“Why? Why does he get special rights?” Marlo snapped, his coal eyes seemed to flare with annoyance more than contempt as they settled themselves on a slightly freaking out Jean. Jean swallowed the spit in his mouth, throat constricting as he looked to a fro at Annie and the doors, his escape to freedom.  
  
“Because, he actually knows how to wear a God damned undercut in a normal way, unlike that dead toupee flopped on your head. You look like a fucking coconut, Marlo, now move.” Annie sighed, her voice serious as she glared once more at her colleague.  
  
“Stand aside.” She growled again, causing Marlo to wince. Ah, and there it was, the final harsh command of Annie Leonhardt, professional badass. Jean knew a bit about her background, how her dad was a marine and as such raised his daughter in a militarist fashion. Marlo, it seemed, was just figuring that out. The poor bastard.  
  
“Ye-Yes, Ma’am.” Marlo stuttered before he actually -- Jean blinked -- did he just fucking salute Annie?! Jean had to stave off his own chuckle of laughter, lest Annie’s glare be directed at him after this whole ordeal.  
  
Finally, Marlo moved his body out of the way and Jean was able to scoot his way inside, instantly feeling the heat of the club sink and press against his skin. Sending one more grateful look towards Annie, he let the small current of the clubs inhabitants swallow him. Loosening his collar, he set out to find his friends.  
  
Walking the short distance to the bar, dodging drunks and frisky couples getting their groove on, Jean finally found Sasha and Connie, both already having ordered some less than appetizing looking concoctions.  
  
Finding refuge from the hands-y drunks scattered about like flies, Jeans settled himself on a stool between his two friends. Judging from the fact that Sasha looked glued to her phone, Jean guessed that the other party members were running late. Jean huffed, not really caring too much -- meeting new people was exciting, to a point. Whenever social situations were presented to the blond, those involved usually just figured Jean was cis whenever introduced -- the concept of transgender people completely lost on them. In a way it made things easier and more fun for Jean, because he didn’t have to work too hard at passing. But still, meeting people, discussing menial topics like the weather and sports teams, laughing nervously at horribly delivered jokes? Jean blanched. Thank God there was alcohol to take the edge off of this night, or he didn’t think he’d last more than a few hours.  
  
Slumping in his stool, he spotted a familiar face walking towards them from being the bar, all grins and smiles plastered over the mans harsh looking face.  
  
Reiner, wearing his uniform of a semi-clean t-shirt with the bars logo on it -- three creepy ass cartoons of what appeared to be fleshy giant-titans -- suddenly approached the slightly buzzed group.  
  
“There’s the sad frowny little man!” Reiner smiled good naturedly, smacking Jean on his shoulder in jest. Connie, pushing Jean forward in his seat, hollered loudly for another round of drinks, all on Jean, the “sad frowny little man”, as Connie has decided to call him for the remainder of the night. Jean, taking a moment to sour his glare at his friend about the absurd nickname that will probably haunt him for his entire life, suddenly felt a new wave of nerves bundle in his gut.  
  
Realizing that, oh, hey, great, this whole night out really was a “re-affirm Jeans masculinity” pity party, Jean suddenly felt a little less secure about this whole idea.  
  
With a mixed feeling of love for his friends and wanting to punch them all in the face for even thinking Jean was so sad as to be downtrodden by his troubles -- really, he wasn’t that pathetic-- his inner dialogue somewhat slowed down and contented itself with the fact that Reiner has shoved a really weirdly colorful looking liquid in a shot class in his face. All of the sudden Jean sucked the drink down, everything not feeling quite that devastatingly woeful anymore.  
  
Bertl, with a face already patched and dewy with sweat, meekly lets out a small hello to the group before he sneakily, and with a great rebellious tremor against the code of a bartender, snuck extra cherries into each of their drinks, a soft smile on his face as he plopped a third cherry into Jeans own shot glass. Jean, thinking always highly of Bertl, smiled in return, giving the tanned man a small toast of his glass.  
  
A few minutes of nursing their drinks in happy silence, Annie then made her presence known. Stopping off to relay the nights progress and for Reiner to keep an eye out for a few already smashed patrons, she made a noise of acknowledgement to the three. After her status was reported and a silly salute and a lopsided grin was given for her troubles by the heftier man, Reiner went back to moping up the bar, leaving the wood and metal shiny and clean. Levi would be proud, Jean thought humorously to himself.  
  
Annie, stopping to squeeze Jeans shoulder in a very clearly endearing motion -- just how many people knew the mission of this night out?!-- soon went back to her post, the tension of the group seeming to slip away as she wished them all a pleasant night. Raising their glasses briefly, the group went back to listening to the track of music heady and beating strongly against their skulls.  
  
Jean, taking some time to himself, observed the on goings around him as Reiner, refilling Jeans drink, suddenly laughed at something Connie said. Berlt and Sasha soon joined in on the joke -- which consisted of Connie imitating a walrus by sticking drinking stir-sticks up his nose. Jean chuckled along to his friends antics, content for once during this whole shitty day. After all the shit that happened so far, it really looked like the night was looking up — then, Sasha’s phone decided at that moment to beeped loud and proud.  
  
Instantly, with a small crazed look in her eyes, Sasha held out her beer for Connie to take, her other hand pawing her phone to her face — finally, with her pinky shoved in her other ear, she sighed into the device.  
  
“Hey! Are you guys here? Okay… no, no, it’s a left on Maria — yeah, no, the place is called Shinge—…No, no, a LEFT on Maria! Ugh.” Sasha un-plastered the phone from her ear, mouthing a hasty ‘sorry’, before she excused herself, making her way outside to where the musical styling’s of Lady Gaga weren’t blaring entirely in her ear.  
  
After a few silent moments that consisted of Connie trying to see how many maraschino cherries and olives he could simultaneously shove up his nose before he passed out (causing Bertl to sweat profusely in trying to deter the other mans actions, mumbling weakly that if Connie died on his shift Berlt would get in a lot of trouble), Reiner finally came to the rescue and distracted Connie with a twisty straw for his drink. However, the fascinatingly bendy straw was soon forgotten by the giggling man as Connie’s pocket began to vibrate. Jean watched the other man skillfully dig his stubby fingers into his pants, clicking open his phone, tongue sticking out at the corner of his lips now stained purple from whatever the fuck he was drinking not but a few seconds ago.  
  
After thumbing a bit at the screen of the device, he instantly frowned. Jeans interest now peeked, he shoved his friends shoulder lightly. “What’s up?” He mumbled, taking another sip of his drink, it burned down his throat pleasantly, tasting lightly of citrus.  
  
“Shit, you ain’t gonna’ like it…” Connie whined, worried eyes shifting to Jean and the back to his phone.  
  
“Jaeger and friends are texting me.” Connie furrowed his eyebrows downward, seemingly absorbed in another text shot his way, that, or he just didn’t want to make contact with the menacing glare that was shot his way by his drinking partner.  
  
Jean took a deep sip of Sasha’s forgotten beer. “What does the little jack ass want now?” Jean mumbled. The prospect of having to see Eren tonight instantly soured his slowly spiking mood. Mikasa and Armin were great and all, but fuck if Jean didn’t wan to drop kick Eren off the face of the earth.  
  
Jean knew that his episode of constantly hitting on Eren’s sister, Mikasa, during their college years didn’t exactly sweeten their friendship -- but it was more along the lines of Eren’s sucky attitude that forbade the two to patch up their differences and become remotely less hostile toward each other.  
  
Jean just really fucking hated Eren Jaeger.  
  
It was partly due to Eren’s idealistic ideals, his brash annoying voice, and his stubbornness to always butt into other peoples shit, but Jean also knew deep down that one of the main reasons he hated Eren Jaeger with his entire being was because the little shit could still not remember to get Jeans pronouns right. Like, fuck, how hard was it?  
  
“Dude, sorry to spoil your night, but guess who’s coming to join us?” Shoving his phone back in his pocket, Connie swiveled his chair to a very annoyed looking Jean.  
  
Jean furrowed his eyebrows and grumbled. “God damn it, Springer.”  
  
Connie bit his lip, looking painfully sorry and a hell of a lot guilty. “Sorry, dude, but I accidentally let it slip — Armin promised to be pronoun police if it makes you feel any better…?” Connie wordlessly took Jeans finished second drink from Berlt, sliding it to the two toned blond.  
  
Grappling for the shot glass Jean heaved it down in one go, hacking only slightly. “Well, it’s something.” Jean seethed, grumbling as he licked his lips of the traces of the spicy liquor. Did he mention he really fucking hated Eren Jaeger?  
  
After a few more stuttered apologies and kicked puppy looks from Connie, Sasha’s voice finally peeked above the music, the second Marina & the Diamonds song of the night blaring sultrily around the forming group, making the beat thrum deep in Jeans chest as if someone was shaking him, the vibrations were that intense. He should have worn earplugs…  
  
“Guys, these are some of my co-workers!” Sasha raised her hands to jut them at the small group of people who were standing behind her, their faces bitten a little red from where the outside cold must have gotten to them. One of them, a short blond girl, sneezed softly.  
  
Jean passed his eyes over each of them, noticing right away that the short black haired woman closest to Sasha was pretty cute, her hair drawn at the sides of her face and tied into two loose pigtails.  
  
Eyes flicking once again, Jean made a mental note to himself to not mess with the other black haired female, tall and imposing as she was. Judging by how she kept grabbing at the shorter one, the blond that looked a little nervous in the club atmosphere, Jean deduced that they were a couple and therefore off limits. Smiling softly at the oddness of the couple, he then moved on to the last member of the oddly formed group of Sasha’s work mates.  
  
He was a guy who was only slightly as tall as the other black haired girl, and, snorting softly, Jean noticed they both had dark skin smattered with freckles. But while the girls skin was slightly greasy and her face slim, this guys skin seemed smooth, as if he still had some of his baby fat hidden around his cheeks. Jean also noticed that the guy was smiling most pleasantly, only looking a tad uncomfortable in the sweltering atmosphere of the club that demanded the sweat of its inhabitants. His eyes, Jean noticed, shined black and friendly. Jean felt his breath stutter.  
  
Oh no, he’s hot…  
  
“Mina, Christa, Ymir, Marco — meet my partners in crime, Connie and Jean!” Sasha sing-song-ed, her voice sounding odd in contrast to the current singers verses that were blasting above them like canon fire. Leaning over her boyfriend, Sasha snagged her beer from Jeans hand, taking a swig and sighing happily as the soothing flavors of hops and barely hit her taste buds.  
  
The group of four waved shyly to Connie and Jean, well, all four of them except the tall freckled girl who just glared slightly, moving closer to the petite blonde of the group.  
  
Jean made another intensely important mental note to not get too close to the pretty blonde, lest he get a fist in his face from tall-dark-and-protective. Yeeeeep, defiantly an item.  
  
“Oh, Sasha — Jaeger and company are also coming.” Connie informed his girlfriend who had just ushered her freezing co-workers to warm themselves with some of Reiner’s famous Irish car bombs. Making sure everyone was comfortable and taken care of, she turned worried eyes to Connie.  
  
Jean couldn’t help but send a glare toward the little bald man himself who only grinned sheepishly.  
  
“Jean, you gonna’ be okay?” Sasha poked the two-toned blond in the cheek. He swatted her hand away teasingly.  
  
“I’ll be fine, just make sure he…y’know…” Jean raised and lowered his eyebrows in the ‘super-secret-signal’, a code name Connie had eagerly came up one night when they were probably either really drunk or really bored. Jean was betting on the latter.  
  
Sasha nodded and turned to Bertl, who had just finished taking down the new members of the groups orders. Tacking the receipt overhead, he turned to Sasha with imploringly big green eyes.  
  
“Hey, Bert, make sure Jaeger doesn’t get too drunk tonight, m’kay?” She asked the taller man. He nodded furiously, sweat dripping from his curved nose as he fiddled with a particularly pesky slippery tumbler. Having seen Eren drunk before in the worst possible of ways, the tall man understood the dire-ness of the situation.  
  
To the sweaty and dark mans right, Reiner laughed, his voice louder than the clubs pounding music.  
  
“Don’t worry, if Eren causes a fuss, Annie will kick ‘em out!” He assured the group, handing Ymir her ordered pale ale. Reiner paused to ruffle Jeans hair affectionately.  
  
“Tonight’s Jeans night after all!” He barked in laugher as he went back to hanging up the clubs few and slightly marred wine glasses.  
  
Jean blushed, fingers combing wildly through his hair to fix his messed up locks. He didn’t want to look like a dork in front of the cute guy.  
  
“Is it your birthday today, Jean?” Mina asked politely, taking a sip of a marshmallow vodka concoction that she seemed oh so excited to have Bertl make her. Jean wrinkled his nose slightly at the sight of the drink.  
  
“Nah, they’re just trying to cheer me up after a bad day at work.” Jean rubbed the back of his neck, catching small glances at the tall and broad guy standing near Christa — there weren’t any stools left so he just kind of squeezed in where there was room, chatting softly with the blonde who was sipping heartily at her hard lemonade. Jean couldn’t help but stare at those god damned freckles, the strobe lights reigning multicolored waves over the guy — Marcos — face, making them look bolder, brighter, cuter.  
  
After a few minutes the group seemed to ease into conversation that involved a lot of shouting of “What— I couldn’t here you” or “Say that again? The music’s too loud!” or Connie’s utterance of “THIS IS MY JAM” every five minutes a new song came on. Really, it was quite an energetic atmosphere and after a few minutes Jean felt like he was enjoying himself slightly more than before. It also helped the matter that Marco had drifted away from Christa and closer to Jean, as the petite blonde and her girlfriend had started to drunkenly make out on the bar stools. Berlt had to cover his eyes, poor guy, he was blushing so badly.  
  
Standing awkwardly near Jeans left side, Marco smiled politely at the two toned blond. Jean responded with a flirtatious smirk of his own, causing Marco to clear his throat, his cheeks reddening some. The night was looking up, Jean hummed to himself.  
  
A good amount of time passed, allowing everyone to get to know each other over their sugary sweet drinks. Soon though they all walked onto the less than crowded dance floor, and, all a bit sloshed except for the Marco guy who claimed sheepishly that he was designated driver — they all started howling with laughter. Easily making fun of each others shitty dance moves, they were by far the loudest party at the usually sparsely populated club tonight. Connie had undoubtedly though blown everyone away with his break dancing. Little shit was limber as fuck.  
  
Jean found himself actually having quite a bit of fun, dancing not so suitably close to Marco, ignoring the constricting of the binder around his chest in favor for watching the way the freckled mans tight green graphic T-shirt rode up along his skin, exposing even more freckles. Ah, tonight was going to be a memorable night indeed — that was, until Jaeger showed up.  
  
Jaeger, with his stoutness, his stubbled chin, his Adams-apple, and his cis-fucking-privilege. Jean wanted to knock him in his teeth.  
  
“Hey!” Jaeger shouted, calling the groups attention to him, of course, fucking Jaeger. Jean seethed.  
  
Sasha and Connie greeted the new group with drunken smiles, Sasha introducing her equally intoxicated — except boy scout Marco — to the new arrivals.  
  
It was then that Eren, after Mikasa and Armin went to go get their drinks after a quiet and polite hello, walked up to Jean and clapped him over the shoulder.  
  
“Hey, Jeanne! How’s it going?” Eren smiled, hands squeezing Jean along his shoulder.  
  
But Jeans eyes had already widen, his mind halting to a screeching stop as he took in Jaegers words.  
  
Oh no, he did not just break out the birth name, oh hell no.  
  
It barely took Eren a few seconds to realize he had made a most unfortunate mistake when within an instant Jean has his fist coiled in the front of Erens shirt, Jeans lips curling back in a snarl that meant a world of pain and humiliation for the shorter brunette.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean, Jaeger?!” Jean shouted, calling to attention the whole group as they watched the blossoming of a fight break out. Somewhere along Jeans eye sight he could have sworn he saw Annie, but, too busy trying to make Eren eat his own tie, Jean ignored her.  
  
Erens green eyes widened as he growled right back in Jeans long face. “Ah Jesus fucking Christ I just forgot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, fuck!” He retorted, trying to fight his way out of Jeans grip, but Jean held fast.  
  
“You never fucking think, do you, Jaeger?!” Jean growled, this time louder. Sensing a fight right on the cusp, Connie and Sasha immediately pulled Jean back, their wobbly fingers tucked under Jeans armpits while they drag him backward. Meanwhile, Ymir had thrust her arms between the two men, giving each a hardening glare, muttering something about breathing room and personal space.  
  
After a few tense seconds of holding Jean back from totally obliterating Eren, Connie clucked his tongue in a disapproving manner, the waves of music tumbling over his sweaty and flushed face. He patted a still very pissed off Jean on his chest, a warning for his friend to cool it.  
  
“Damn it, Jaeger, you can’t keep calling Jean that stereotypical girly nickname, man, Jean’s sensitive about his homosexuality!” Connie chastised Eren, the brunette only widening his eyes, looking very confused.  
  
“What? I’m not homophobic -- I’m gay!” He insisted, taking a step toward Connie. But in an instant Armin had grabbed Eren’s arms, yanking him away from the group suddenly.  
  
“We’re sorry, Jean, we thought he could behave.” Armin then turned back to the shocked eyes of the group, who had, with bleary eyes, watched the scene unfold like some kind of scripted drama.  
  
“Its internalized homophobia,” the short blond explained, furrowing his eye brows in his best friends direction. Mikasa suddenly took Eren’s other arm, dragging her struggling brother back to her side. He huffed, clearly angry about the situation.  
  
“It’s like a disease,” she nodded, her scarf muffling her voice.  
  
“Sad, really.” Armin assured them again, sending a small apologetic look to Jean before the two toted a grappling and seething Eren away to go get him the Jaeger bombs he pretended to like so much just so that he would stop yelling.  
  
After he left, all eyes were suddenly on Jean.  
  
“Ahhh….” He was about to say something, anything to diffuse the tension and the burning gazes directed at him, when all the sudden another Nicki Minaj song started to play and in an instant Connie screamed at the top of his lungs, “MY GLITTER SPARKLED QUEEN”, and ran back onto the center of the dance floor. Christa and Mina, having no choice in the matter, were pulled along with the little man, Ymir chasing him onto the middle of the dance floor, yelling with slurred words, “Get your hands off my girlfriend, baldy!”  
  
Sasha soon wobbled after them, leaving Jean and Marco to stand awkwardly alone while the others danced embarrassingly around them like they didn’t have a care in the world.  
  
“Ah… Sorry that guy had to ruin your evening.” Marco turned to Jean, an honest to God earnest smile on his lips, as if Marco was really very concerned with the blonds well being. Jeans neck began to feel hot, pricked with sweat. He stuttered with his words. Use your words, Kirschtien, prove you are a sentient being.  
  
Chuckling softly, Jean bit his lip. “Who? Jaeger? Ahh, it wouldn’t be a party without him picking a fight with me.” He huffed another round of fake laughter.  
  
“But, uh — his words barely affect me anymore.” Liar, he thought, as soon as the fib was out his mouth.  
  
“Still, I kinda’ know how you feel, being gay myself — my dad kicked me out of his house when I was 18. Wanted to get rid of me real fast. I’ve had my share of prejudice.” Marco mumbled sadly, his laugh seeming force. The freckled mans solemn voice felt very out of place in the hot and sweaty club. Suddenly, Jean didn’t want the freckled man who did nothing but smile all night, to be sad on account of him ruining this night with his shitty temper.  
  
Jean swallowed tightly in his throat, wanting to tell Marco that he was kicked out of his house when he was 19 when his mom and dad caught him binding with ace bandages in front of his bedroom mirror, but, that’d be just about the most stupidest thing he could say, so he bit his tongue. Sympathizing was not one of his strong points, not at least while he was pretty hammered, so he settled for the next best thing.  
  
“Wanna’ dance?” He chose to blurt out, his voice cracking some.  
  
Marco laughed softly at the invitation, all in good mirth. Jean could have sworn the guys cheeks tinted pink, but that was probably just the lights blaring on ahead.  
  
“I thought you’d never ask.”  
  
That night Jean apparently got enthusiastically drunk, danced ‘sexily’ according to Sasha and Mina to Ke$ha’s “Take it off”, and got Marcos number scrawled in sharpie on his palm and a ‘birthday‘ kiss on the cheek from freckles himself. All in all, it was a pretty good night.


	3. Wine Soaked Dinner Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows freckles are kisses from angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this chapter is so late I am so sorry, please forgive me. uwu I'd like to thank my dear friend, co-writer, and editor, Carsan for helping me with this chapter. Thank you Carsan, you talented little shit. 
> 
> (This is Nick’s editor. He might not read this so I’m going to take the time to say he’s a sweetheart and y’all should tell him how rad he is. Thank you for your time).

Jean narrowed his eyes, his gaze falling along his hand as he curled and unfurled his fingers. Blunt nails caught on his skin as he flicked his index back and forth in a peculiar movement. The ink had already threaded and tainted his skin, as if little black ants were stamped along his palm in a march of numbers. Phone numbers. Marco Bodt’s phone number. Jean huffed out a contented sigh, honey-colored eyes never straying from the scrawl of ink.  
  
Sitting next to Jean at the kitchen divider, Connie shoved spoon after spoonful of his lucky charms, humming to himself in the quietness of the apartment before-barely swallowing his food-he turned to Jean. Noticing how his roommate was looking lustfully at his right hand — and not exactly for the reason one might think, Connie started to snicker. Jean narrowed his eyes only slightly, waiting for the onslaught of Connie’s mockery to start off his early morning.  
  
“Ew, dude, you still haven’t washed that off?” Connie swallowed another gulp of milk from the lip of his bowl before his eyes widened. “Wait, have you not been washing your right hand this entire time? Not even after taking a piss? Dude, gross.” Connie hoarded his bowl of lucky charms closer to his face, glaring at Jean’s open palm as if Jean would just dip his finger in Connie’s soggy milk and taint his marshmallow sugary goodness. Giant five-year-old, Jean thought.  
  
“You know what? I think today I am too happy to violently kick you off your seat and watch you cry on the floor.” Jean mumbled wistfully, looking at the number scrawled along his hand in what he could only describe as the perfect handwriting. Marco Bodt’s handwriting. Jean sighed, flicking his wrist absently to get the full effect of the handwriting that no other could compare.  
  
Sasha, tying her froth of deep red hair back, snorted at Jean as she finally shuffled into the kitchen, her Chef’s uniform already neatly buttoned in place. After twisting her hair in place, a few thick wisps falling on either side of her sunny morning face, she made her way to the divider where the two boys sat, slumped sleepily on their stools.  
  
“Is today the day you finally call him?” She flashed a cheeky grin towards Jean, snagging a spoonful of Connie’s cereal in the process. The bald man grumbled.  
  
“You should really eat something, babe.” Connie mumbled, shoving his plate of cold toast towards the hastily dressing woman.  
  
“Don’t mind if I do,” She smirked, grabbing the two pieces of toast and shoving them in her mouth. Jean only winced slightly as he watched her unhinge her jaw to swallow her victims whole. Damn, girl could eat.  
  
She then, hopping on her feet to put on her specially ordered work shoes, flicked Jean on the ear. He swatted her hand away, rubbing at the abused flesh with his palm, a teasing sour look on his face.  
  
“Seriously though, call him. He keeps bugging the crap out of all of us at work with how he just floats around the kitchen with hearts in his eyes, speaking so freakin’ highly of you. It’s disgusting, really.” Sasha cooed. Jean only rolled his eyes, however he wasn’t quite fast enough to hide the growing blush that smeared itself over his cheeks.  
  
“So,” grabbing her keys, she pointed to both of them, eyes boring into each of their sleep-tainted gazes. “You are both going to get dressed, do the list of chores on your respective to-do-list that I have drawn up for you, and Jean, for the love of God, you are going to call Marco and set up a date tonight at the restaurant — also, wash your hand, good lord.” Sasha crinkled her nose like she smelled something especially foul.  
  
Jean only huffed, grabbing lazily at a napkin from the little napkin holder in the shape of a ceramic penis on top of the divider. Finding a half-dead pen, he re-wrote Marco’s number (he had it memorized by now) on the napkin in his less than aesthetically pleasing handwriting. Then, getting up dramatically, as if it was such an effort to peel his ass from his seat, he made his way to the sink.  
  
“Good boy, yes, that’s right, use the dish soap — ahh nice and clean.” Sasha smiled, grabbing Jean’s face with her free hand, the other one holding a carton of oatmeal cookies and a file of prep work, before she smacked a kiss on Jean’s temple. He huffed, cringing out of her hold before she came over to Connie who was make grabby hands at his girlfriend. Giving him a quick kiss on the lips, Connie humming, she then made her way to the door, turning back to them.  
  
“Play nice, boys.” Sasha winked before she closed the door behind her.  
  
Giggling slightly, Sasha just had that effect on him, Connie got up, scratching his stomach under his wife beater before he walked over to the fridge. Yawning, he leaned against the big hulking humming appliance.  
  
“What’s my first chore?” Jean mumbled, scrubbing diligently at the black streaks of marker along his wrist. The soap frothing up from his rhythmic motions came up a dull black.  
  
Connie yawned once more before picking at the list haphazardly taped to the fridge. Reading the squiggled lines of Sasha’s handwriting, Connie snickered. Shuffling back to the kitchen divider to paw at his bowl, the cereal having congealed into a mushy mess, he walked back to Jean.  
  
“Dishes.” Connie giggled, shoving the bowl in Jean’s hand before he darted away just in time from being smacked in the face with suds and dish soap.  
  
“God damn it.” Jean mumbled with annoyance, but still, he couldn’t deny that the gooey lovey dovey smile on his face wouldn’t dissipate from his features. God, he had it bad for this guy, and he knew it.  
  
Tensing up his shoulders, feeling his heart ram in his chest, he made a grab for his charging phone, wiping his soppy hand on his t-shirt. Sucking in a breath of air to steady himself, he clicked it open. Thumbing over his contact list, he called Marco.  
  
….  
  
Jean breathed into the receiver, again, in what he felt was a terribly overdone rendition of Darth Vader.  
  
He had tried, and failed, four times in calling Marco. The phone would ring and Jean, the little piss baby that he was, would just click it off. Just like that, like the idiotic moron he seemed to always be.  
  
But, like they always say, fifth times a charm, right? Jean inwardly groaned into his hands.  
  
“Get a hold of yourself, Kirschtein, you’ve done scarier things in your life — you lived with Connie in a dorm, for Christ’s sake!” Jean snarled to himself before, with a steadying sigh, he typed in Marco’s number yet again, and, clicking call, waited.  
  
“…….ring…..ring….ri— Jean?” Going into a sudden spasm at Marco’s voice, Jean almost dropped the phone on the floor. Yet, miraculously, he was able to regain the last little shred of his cool that had not died from embarrassment from his sheer existence. Pressing the phone back to his ear, he bit his lip.  
  
“Ahh, hey, Marco, how did you know it was me?” Jean winced, his voice sounded so fucking lame, even to him.  
  
Marco on the other line just laughed softly. “Well, I figured it was you when the last couple of calls just dropped out before I could get to you. Sasha said you might be calling me today.” Marco sounded hopeful on the other line, hopeful and just as nervous as Jean, and that was all Jean needed to be reassured that he could in fact do this.  
  
“Yeah, well, I just wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to have dinner? Uh…With me? Sasha said she could fix us up with a table at the restaurant — but, uh, if you’d rather go to another place, I totally understand,” but Marco was laughing again, Jean felt like he could actually see the freckled man smiling into the phone with his perfect white teeth and gentle eyes. “No, Jean, that sounds great. It will be nice to eat there for once instead of cook.” Jean couldn’t contain the heating redness of his face even if he wanted to.  
  
“Oh, right, well, good — can I meet you there at say, eight o’clock?” Jean swallowed. Keep your wits about you, Kirschtein, this is no time to squeal and panic over the phone.  
  
“Sure, sounds great! I’ll be the one wearing the white coat and chef’s hat, heh.”  
  
Jean bit his lip, “O-okay, um, well, see you soon?” He waited with bated breath.  
  
“Yep, bye Jean!”  
  
“Bye…” and then, click, the call was over.  
  
Jean swallowed the thudding of his heartbeat in his throat, shoving his phone back in the pocket of his sweats.  
  
He had a date tonight with handsome, funny, sweet Marco Bodt. No reason to panic, right? He made a slight pained sound in the back of his throat.  
  
Jean almost tripped on a puddle of dishwater on the linoleum kitchen floor as he jumped excitedly up and down with fervor.  
  
“I HAVE A DATE WITH MARCO BODT.” He shouted, well, more like squealed, into the small apartment building.  
  
“Gaaaaaaaaaay.” Came the droning reply from Connie’s room.  
  
Jean was too pleased with himself to wring the little bald man’s neck.  
  
…  
  
His fingers dug against the tightness of the tie at his throat, choking himself in the process with how his nails picked at the knock-off silk knot.  
  
“Dude, stop fiddling with it, you’ll be fine, just like, calm the fuck down.” Connie huffed, swatting Jean’s hand away from his neck before the blond could claw his jugular open in a sheer fit of nervousness.  
  
“But, like, shit, Connie. This is a real date, a real date with a guy who doesn’t suspect anything about my transgender status…a guy who’s made out of puppies and sunshine…. a guy with freckles!” Jean groaned into his hands as Connie shoved him out of his car, having driven Jean to the restaurant because the blond was so nervous he swore if he drove he’d be a danger to everybody on the fucking road. Connie couldn’t let his friend drive romantically enthralled, let alone stupid — so designated driver he had become.  
  
“First of all, why the fuck does him having freckles have anything to do with this?” Connie mumbled, locking his car door and physically pushing Jean down the street to the restaurant with his bony elbows. Jean began to drag his feet almost somberly, as if he was walking to his death and not to a first date, though, really, what was the difference?  
  
“Because his freckles are adorable!” Jean whined in sudden anguish. Connie sighed, his friend’s usually cool and collected voice now grating on his feeble little ears.  
  
“Shit, Kirschtein, keep yourself together.” Connie balked, grabbing at Jean’s wrists before he could accidentally maim himself any further.  
  
Jean sniffled.  
  
“Look, first of all, you’re both on equal turf — Marco works at the restaurant, but it’s not like you haven’t been here a few times yourself, yeah? Secondly, you’re both sickeningly dewy eyed over each other, so don’t worry about lack of attraction,” Connie stopped Jean in front of the brightly lit establishment. Jean’s blood suddenly ran cold as he faced the glass and wood door, the handle glaring at him with venomous spite.  
  
“What’s the third reason?” Jean suddenly croaked out, eyes still glued to the door of the restaurant as if it was the opening to the gates of Hell itself.  
  
“What?” Connie mumbled, a confused look in his eyes as he turned to the other.  
  
Jean swallowed. “You said ‘first, secondly’, so where’s the third point? There has to be a third point to make this all better, to make me feel better.” Jean turned wide and scared eyes back to Connie.  
  
“There is a third point, isn’t there?” The two toned blond practically whimpered.  
  
“Uh….” Connie rapidly searched his brain, trying to come up with anything, anything to tell his friend, any shred of condolence that he could muster up and speak with conviction.  
  
“Uh. My mom one time told me freckles were kisses from angels.” Connie uttered slowly, his mind still trying to process his thoughts, grabbing at connections as if they floated about him.  
  
Jean furrowed his brows, mouth curling into a confused pout. “And?”  
  
Connie rubbed the back of his head frantically.  
  
“Well, Marco has a shit ton of freckles — which means a shit ton of angels had to kiss him, right?”  
  
“And your point with this is…?” Though Jean’s eyes had narrowed with speculation at the other’s words, the blonde’s shoulders had stopped shaking. Connie, noticing his friend was calming down some, worried at his lip thoughtfully.  
  
“Well, the way I figure it, only good people get kisses from angels…So, Marco is probably a really good guy…” Connie explained lamely, but it seemed to comfort Jean some, as the blond nodded to himself, looking back at the warmly lit inside of the restaurant. It curiously didn’t look quite as scary as it had a few minutes ago.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right.” Jean nodded, mostly to himself.  
  
“So, you okay bro? Because I’m pretty sure if I hold you hand and walk you in, Marco is gonna get the wrong idea and he may just get his feelings hurt.” Connie smirked, nudging Jean’s shoulder affectionately. Jean chuckled softly, though the laughter didn’t quite reach his still partly widened eyes.  
  
“But really, we good?” Connie mumbled, hands coming to squeeze at Jean’s shoulder encouragingly.  
  
Connie knew this, dating, being with other people, was hard for Jean. He knew, and, wincing for even thinking about it, Jean being trans really was one of the most dangerous things one could be. Connie wasn’t stupid though, that was not to say that there weren’t worse things, obviously. Connie was half Chinese and half black, he faced idiots and racist dick bags everyday, he knew what prejudice looked like, he lived in a world that was cruel and idiotically naïve — but Jean’s status as an LGBT+ member was in itself a big problem that could end in death for the other. Connie cared for his friend, and ever since Jean told him in their Junior year in High School that he felt different, Connie had still stayed by his friend, doing everything in his power to keep Jean safe and happy, because when Jean was smiling, chances were, Connie was too.  
  
But still, Connie had read the statistics. He knew the reality of Jean’s lifespan, he knew the risks and he knew the trials that awaited his friend. He only hopped, at least, that this Marco guy wouldn’t be a risk. If he wasn’t worth this, Connie would kill him with his bare hands, never mind the fact that the freckled giant could probably take him in one go.  
  
But then, sending back a wobbly smile to the other, Jean just nodded in assurance. Swallowing deep in his throat, he shoved his hands in his pockets, Connie holding the door open for him.  
  
“Go get ‘em, special K.” Connie smirked. Jean hummed back in slight amusement, before he was enveloped in the warmth and noise that came from the blaringly bright restaurant.  
  
Connie, watching his friend for a few more seconds, sighed worryingly before he turned back to his car, trying so very hard to not shiver from the cold or the nauseous strain that seemed to tingle and bite at his gut.  
  
…  
  
Walking into the restaurant was like walking into a second home. A home that smelled like hearty bread and hot soup, of thickened mashed potatoes topped with chives, of roasted meat drizzled with sauce, of crisp sparkling wine ready for toasting good fortunes with friends. Jean took a deep breath of the air inside the establishment, suddenly feeling his hammering heartbeat slow to a pleasant thrum.  
  
Straightening his tie slightly, as if just a few minutes earlier he hadn’t been trying to claw it off his throat, Jean walked a little ways though the front to stop at the raised podium near the entry to the dining room. An older man with slight wrinkles on his face greeted him.  
  
“Evening, Jean, we’ve been expecting you!” Hannes smiled at the two-toned blond, gathering a stack of nicely pressed parchment menus and flipping through them to find the new ones for the other.  
  
“Hello Hannes, how’s it going?” Jean smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.  
  
“Slow night,” Hannes hummed happily, squinting down at the large and almost always packed guest book. Running his finger over the ink, he looked back at Jean with a smirk, slightly thick eyebrows quirked up.  
  
“Jean Kirschtein, party for two?” He grinned, nudging Jean in the shoulder. Jean laughed nervously, blushing timidly. Clearing his throat, he moved slightly out of the way for the older man to lead him to a nice secluded table, complete with delicate white tablecloth, a small candle, and a little glass vase filled with blooming carnations. Jean felt his heartbeat skyrocket at the realization that this was indeed a date. The notion hit him at full force like a ton of bricks dropped on his head.  
  
“Do I know them?” Hannes asked, handing Jean one of the menus as the man sat himself down clumsily and a bit dazedly.  
  
“Oh, you could say that.” Jean laughed, his nervousness having no trouble peeking through his chuckle. Hannes only smiled kindly and went back to his post, “Your waiter will be here shortly.”  
  
Jean, finally alone, began to slowly torture himself with his embarrassing thoughts that were left to run wild, multiplying with each distressing outcome this night could entreat.  
  
It wasn’t that Connie’s words didn’t help him, quite the contrary. Jean was glad the setting for their date would be a nice homey place, full of people’s faces that he knew well, an atmosphere he could count on and possibly use to his advantage. Jean bit his lip, aware that he was beginning to sound like a soldier thinking through a militaristic move to ensure him victory. Wiping his palm down his face, he tried to steady himself, tried to breathe. Yet, his stomach still curled in on himself, causing him to wring the restaurant provided napkin on his lap till he was sure the stitching might come undone in his hands.  
  
He didn’t even have to wait very long before he heard a slight commotion coming from the kitchen. A few other patrons heads turned to watch as a good number of frazzled employees passed by the little portal window, before the diners went back to their meals and conversations. But Jean’s eyes stayed glued at the swinging door, just in time to see Marco Bodt make his way out behind the opening. His face was slightly red from the heat of the kitchen, and his chef’s uniform was slightly askew. His hand was rubbing at the right side of his face for a moment, before blinking, he carried on his way. He wiped his brow softly, taking a moment to breathe and gauge his surroundings before, upon looking at the seating in the dinning room; his soft warm brown eyes fell on Jean’s own. Marco smiled.  
  
Jean felt like he was going to happily vomit.  
  
‘It might not be too later, I can still make a run for it — before he realizes I’m a dork, before I do something stupid and he hates me forever’, Jean’s brain supplied helpfully, running a mile a minute. Jean couldn’t stop his shorn nails from digging into the edge of the dining table till he heard them grate across the nicely laid linen.  
  
Marco was getting closer, walking hurriedly to the table, looking apologetic for making Jean wait. Jean was struck with a sense of a ragged burning affection settling in his heart again as he stared at the other’s completely open and flushed face.  
  
Bolting up as Marco got to the table, Jean quickly pulled the chair out for the other man, smiling nervously. Marco laughed happily at the offer, settling himself down in the chair, giving Jean a polite ‘thank you’, before he worked at the buttons of his uniform to reveal a smart looking button up, soft brown, like the color of his eyes. Jean swallowed the lump in his throat and sat himself down across from the other.  
  
“Sorry I was late, there was a problem with one of the glazes.” Marco sighed, giving Jean once again that sweet remorseful smile that could give a corgi puppy a run for its money in the cuteness factor.  
  
“’S okay…” Jean mumbled, trying to stare at anything but Marco’s eyes. Just getting caught in that gaze would mean Jean would be sure to faint. Instead, he settled on trying to count every little patch of freckles he found on the other’s tanned skin — there was quite a lot he mused happily.  
  
“So, you know what you want?” Marco suddenly asked, finally untangling his arms from his uniform coat, laying it against the back of his chair.  
  
“I usually just get whatever Sasha feels like making me.” Jean chanced a grin, looking fleetingly at the menu. “What would you recommend?”  
  
Marco seemed to think about that for a second before he bit his lip. “No offense to Ymir, but she’s working on pasta this evening, not her specialty, — might I suggest a nice steak with one of Sasha’s famous creamed baked potatoes?” Marco raised his eyebrows, lips pulled back in a smirk that gleamed.  
  
“Hell yeah.” Jean nodded. Marco laughed. “Then I’ll have the same.”  
  
Placing their menus back down at their respective sides, they settled into quiet and slightly comfortable silence before Marco, who seemed to be wrestling with some thoughts, finally voiced his mind.  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking, and this has been bothering me for a while…” Marco stopped, seeming conflicted with his words for a moment, finding his voice. Jean though, suddenly prepared for the worst, to be ousted right then and there as a trans guy. Preparing for the blow, he clenched his fingers at his sides, gritting his teeth. “Yeah?” he asked.  
  
Marco breathed out through his nose, finding determination in his thoughts. “I just wanted to ask, because when I met you at the club, you looked a little bothered, and then Sasha told me that the whole night out was to make you feel better, so…” Marco flicked his gaze up at Jean, his wide brown eyes melting Jean through and through. “…if you don’t mind me asking, why were you upset?”  
  
Jean visibly felt the air leave his lungs in a deep sigh of relief. Reclaiming his cocky smile back over his lips, he licked at them nervously. “Uh, I just got rejected by some guy I was trying to hit on at work, is all.” Jean shrugged, grabbing at his water and taking a small sip. Marco, satisfied by the answer, twitched his lips from his previous frown to a smirk.  
  
“Hm, his loss, my gain.” Marco whispered cheerfully.  
  
Jean choked on his drink.  
  
…  
  
Waiting for their waiter to come, Jean couldn’t help but feel that he was doing pretty well. He hadn’t fainted yet — atta’ boy, Kirschtein — and he was pretty sure he hadn’t completely made Marco hate him yet with all his dumb jokes. All in all, this was turning out pretty nicely — that was, until the waiter came to take down their orders.  
  
Shaking and shivering, bottom lip wobbling slightly, the guy not so much walked over to their table, as much as he shuffled towards it. Making a pained noise in the back of his throat that was clipped by his chattering teeth, he stopped in front of them. Jean couldn’t help but irritatingly notice how the guy, hunched slightly, neared Marco’s side with each step he took.  
  
Jean couldn’t help bristling slightly as the guy sent a small timid smile toward Marco, flinching a small glare in turn towards Jean. Jean quirked his brow — who did this douche think he was?  
  
“He-Hello, Marco.” The guy spoke politely, sparring Jean a slight nod, probably because his job demanded he at least pretend to be curious. However, the awkward air the guy brought to their table soon left, as after jotting down their double orders, he went on his way. Jean still caught the fleeting glace he made at their table, causing his teeth to grit only slightly.  
  
“What’s up with him…” Jean mumbled, watching his scuttling form for a bit before the man, whose nametag Jean remembered titled him as “Dazz”, went to attend to another table. Jean snorted. Dazz. More like Spaz.  
  
“Oh, he just had a small crush on me back in college, don’t worry about it.” Marco assured his dinner partner, smoothing his napkin over his lap. Jean stumbling in his clumsy movements, followed suite.  
  
“Him?” Jean balked softly, but Marco only frowned.  
  
“Ah, sorry, that was rude of me.” At the apology Marco smiled once more, straightening himself in his seat, “Apology accepted.” He hummed, fiddling with the cutlery at the side of his chilled glass.  
  
Glad to be back on Marco’s good side, Jean took a sip of his ice water, trying to hide the dopey smile that was forming on his face.  
  
After a few more minutes, of what was silence bordering on awkwardness, Marco was the first one to speak.  
  
“Sorry, I feel like things are a little awkward, and I wanted to apologize for it—” Marco started to say, but Jean was quick to silence him with a pleasing look in his eyes, leaning forward over the table with urgency.  
  
“What? It’s not your fault, no no no no, if anything, it’s my fault.” Jean pleaded, mentally kicking himself in the face as the words left his mouth. Cease your word vomit, Kirschtein, abort, abort!  
  
But Marco only smiled a little nervously in reply.  
  
“I mean, what I meant was, I’m just really riled up, sorry.” Jean mumbled, sinking back down in his seat, rubbing absently at his arms as he fidgeted.  
  
“Don’t apologize, I think it’s cute.” Marco’s smile never left his face as he rested his chin on his hands, elbows digging at the table. Jean minutely realized just how strong Marco’s arms were. Jean tried to stop his mind from dwelling on that fact. But then Jean’s mind was reminding him that Marco just told him his aimless failings and cruddy conversing skills were cute.  
  
“You— you do?”  
  
“Yeah, you’re really cute when your flustered,” Marco smirked, enjoying the other’s reddening face.  
  
“Here, let’s start again — Hello Jean, I’m Marco. I enjoy bluegrass music and cooking, I have two brothers, and I think you’re really cute when you dance to Ke$ha.” Marco chuckled, blinking at Jean’s totally caught off guard face.  
  
Jean couldn’t stop the stuttering of his tongue even if he wanted to.  
  
“You-you think I’m cute?” He asked, still disbelieving, but Marco only grinned. “Uh-uh, that’s now how this introduction thing works.” But Jean could still see that Marco’s face had started to take on a reddish hint, and it wasn’t his imagination or the lighting in the restaurant, he was sure of that. Feeling a bit bolder, Jean smiled with his teeth flashing.  
  
“Okay, hello Marco, my name is Jean. I enjoy 90’s punk music,” Marco made a teasingly pained noise, pretending to gag, “Hey— the punk scene is really in now! Anyway, I have no siblings, and I think when you smile you’re really cute. Like, really fucking cute.” Jean mumbled, enjoying the little stutter of nerves that Marco had become at the other’s words.  
  
“Okay, good, now that we are properly acquainted, lets drink to a toast?” Marco’s voice was smooth and warm as his eyes acknowledged their waiter approaching with their wine glasses balanced atop a sleek black tray.  
  
Jean nodded, the tension from his shoulders easing as Marco gave him another one of his award winning smiles. This night was going to be perfect, he could feel it.  
  
…  
  
“Damn it, Dazz!” Sasha shrieked loudly, her scream piercing Jean’s eardrums.  
  
Luckily, the only paying costumers in the entire restaurant to hear her cries of indignation were solely Marco and Jean — a very frazzled Marco, and a very wine soaked Jean.  
  
Jean huffed, shaking his mop of hair that would now be sticky and dyed an off shade of red from the wine their waiter ‘accidentally’ spilled on them. Yeah, silly meaningless crush, Jean’s ass.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Dazz was sputtering, shoving washcloths and towels in Jean’s face. “He’s so sorry, Jean.” Sasha repeated with a squeak, combing back the blonde’s hair to try and get the stickiness out. Jean growled.  
  
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” He ushered their hands away, grabbing a towel from the table and mopping up his wine stained crotch and front shirt.  
  
“Here, let me help you take off your vest—” Marco leaned over the table but Jean edged back, knowing the wine had stained his white shirt, meaning his binder would be fully visible in the restaurants warm comfy lighting.  
  
“No, no, I’m fine.” Jean smiled big and bright — and fake, shoving the towel over his front.  
  
“But, it’s soaking?” Marco mumbled, eyes quizzical as he sat back down to lean against the table.  
  
Sasha, sensing the dilemma, clapped her hands together. “Free dessert!” She sang happily, giving Jean the distraction he needed to grip at the front of his shirt, re-arranging the soaked piece of constricting fabric.  
  
“But we haven’t even gotten our dinner yet—” Marco was about to protest until Sasha smacked him in the back of the head. Hard.  
  
“Are you giving me sass, Bodt?” She asked, narrowing her honey brown eyes to the Marco’s own brown ones.  
  
“No, Ma’am.” Marco shut his mouth with a click, gulping down his original objection. Jean almost laughed, Marco being scared of Sasha, even if she was his boss and signed his paychecks, was kind of embarrassingly adorable.  
  
“Good. Now, Jean, you’re going to have the cinnamon swirl cake — Marco, you’re going to have the berry cobbler. Got it?” She looked to both boys for confirmation. Marco nodded while Jean mock saluted her. “Yes, Ma’am.” The blond jeered, shooting a smirk to Marco, who, by now had relaxed and kicked Jean teasingly under the table for his troubles.  
  
“Good.” She turned on her heel, dragging a still apologizing Dazz away by his shirt collar.  
  
“Is it always this… hectic…at the restaurant?” Jean mused, leaning forward in his seat, unconsciously going back to counting Marco’s freckles — he left off at forty-three.  
  
Marco sighed with a little huff of a laugh, “Not usually.” He admitted, scratching at his upper lip in that little quirk of his.  
  
Jean, sensing impending awkwardness beginning to creep into the air, suddenly sat up.  
  
“So, siblings, you said you had brothers? Are you close to them?”  
  
Marco seemed to think fondly for a moment before he nodded. “Somewhat. I am very close to my younger brother, Rueben, but Nico is just an ass, so we don’t talk much.” Marco waved absently in the air, as if he was dispelling the mention of his brother from the air. Jean could see there was something bothering Marco about Nico, so he didn’t press further.  
  
“Are you the oldest?”  
  
Marco shook his head. “Nope, middle.”  
  
“Sucks.” Jean replied, earning a nod and a laugh in return.  
  
“Yeah, it really does — must be nice to be the only child though?” Marco hummed, gaze meeting Jean’s warmly.  
  
Jean shrugged. “I couldn’t really reap many perks. I got kicked out of the house after I came out.” Jean could almost hit himself as soon as the incriminating words left his lips, but Marco didn’t seem phased.  
  
“Ah, homophobic parents, I’m sorry.” Marco’s brows furrowed as he offered the other a sympathetic look. Jean could almost kiss Marco he was so relieved.  
  
“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything.” He chose to mumble instead.  
  
Marco nodded, seeming determined to turn the conversation around to somewhat happier things.  
  
“Favorite activity?” He prompted.  
  
“You mean besides keeping Sasha out of my secret chocolate stash and Connie out of my netflix account?” Jean smirked. Marco laughed; it was like the sound of bells.  
  
“Yeah.” His eyes crinkled some, the small tea light in the middle of their table that had been spared from being doused with wine, flickered its light over Marco’s soft skin. Jean felt his heart clench tightly behind his ribs.  
  
“Hm, I like to listen to music, uh… I’m obsessed with the Sons of Anarchy? I like to take pictures sometimes, but I‘m not very good.” Jean scratched the side of his head. “That’s it, sorry, kinda lame.” He finished, teeth coming to bite at his lower lip.  
  
“No, that’s interesting — ever thought of taking an photography class?” Marco asked, earning a contemplative look from the other.  
  
Jean pursed his lips in thought, “Maybe, I mean, why not?”  
  
Marco grinned, “I think it’s great you have a passion, Jean.” Jean scratched the side of his face.  
  
“Yeah? Yeah, I guess it is kinda nice… Do you have a passion? Uh…cooking?” He guessed, figuring it was a safe bet considering Marco’s occupation.  
  
Marco seemed to consider this, leaning back in his chair. “Hm, you’d think, right? I mean, cooking’s nice, but it’s always been a job for me. I come from a big family — my mom’s half Greek half Italian — so I just always cooked along side her and my uncles and aunts. But, my real passion is probably hiking. I love to hike.” Marco’s voice was bordering on zealous, his eyes shining at the prospect of hiking.  
  
Jean smiled back nervously, liking the ecstatic gleam in the other’s eyes, but finding he wasn’t quite keen on the subject matter that put that childish delight in the other’s gaze.  
  
Jean absolutely hated hiking, and not for the reasons one might think. Oh, he found the trails beautiful and he loved getting his breath of fresh air, prancing around in a meadow or rocky crag while animals danced around him like he was a Prince in a disney movie — but doing any physical exercise, especially hiking, in a binder? Hah, no, he’d be better off just wrapping a boa constrictor around his chest and pissing it off by poking it with a stick.  
  
“That so?” Jean mumbled, Marco nodding furiously.  
  
“I was raised on it, my family and I, we’d always go camping — I was also a scout.”  
  
“A boy scout?” Jean grinned, suddenly finding this information hilarious if not a bit incriminating.  
  
Marco bit back a grin, “Eagle scout actually — we’re much cooler.” He winked, causing Jean to smirk, nodding teasingly. “Ah, I see.”  
  
“Were you in the scouts?” Marco asked, taking a sip from his water glass — his wine currently still dripping from Jean’s matted hair.  
  
Jean bit his lip, feeling a little uneasily suddenly — technically, as a kid, he was in the scouts, though he wasn’t tramping around the forest like the other boys, putting up tents and learning bird calls and making fire without matches — no, he was selling cookies on the side of the road and in neighborhoods with the other…children. Jean shook his head furiously, “Nope, never was a scout,” he lied. Marco only nodded good-naturedly in acceptance.  
  
“Oh? Well, hey, uh, if you want — I mean, that is, if you’d like to go on another date with me—”  
  
“Yes.” Jean blurted out before the other man could finish his sentence.  
  
Marco seemed to relax into his cheery self again, nerves calmed.  
  
“Great! I was going to suggest maybe we can go on a hike tomorrow — it will be easy, I promise, and you can take your camera and take some shots?”  
  
Jean worried at his lip, trying to figure out a way to get out of this without hurting the other’s feelings. He really liked Marco, shit.  
  
Marco, however, sensing the tension and the other’s distress, raised his brows.  
  
“I’ll have you back by lunch — I promise, I’ll even provide the food.” His eyes began to plead, a mocking pout that looked absolutely ridiculous on the slightly taller and bigger man, etched on his lips.  
  
Jean swallowed, his last reserve failing him.  
  
“Please?”  
  
That’s when Jean instantly knew that from now on Marco could get whatever he damn well wanted out of Jean from just saying ‘please’ in that pleading sweetened voice of his.  
  
“I’ll bring the coffee.” Jean muttered, a small nervous smile on his lips.  
  
Marco grinned back, smile beaming. “Great!”  
  
…  
  
Connie had mentioned to Jean that freckles are kisses from celestial beings. That it’s the good people who are the ones to get kisses from the angels, well… Jean thought to himself, maybe he could be one of those good people.


	4. Gonna' Cough Up a Lung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean really really really hates nature.
> 
> (But he really really really likes Marco)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mention of Needles.  
> ...  
> Special thanks to Carsan my editor and best friend, you are the greatest and I hope you realize it!!! uwu

Jean usually preferred to be woken up by his cellphone’s alarm clock setting that blared out the strangled musical stylings of Pearl Jam – but he knew as soon as his thumb swiped at the stupid little rectangle and the music was paused that he’d try his damndest to go back to sleep. In the back of his mind lay the horrifying piece of information that Jean had agreed to meet Marco at 6:30 in the morning to go on a nature hike. It was gonna take more than a couple of weak cellphone rings and tunes to get his pale white ass out of bed willingly.  
  
That was why the night before he had appointed Connie the job of using any methods the bald avatar-lookalike had in his disposal to wake the other up.  
  
And that was why at precisely 5:45 am in the morning Jean’s window blinds were thrust upward and the fiery tendrils of the rising sun were burned into his retinas like Satan’s mocking caress. That, and Connie deemed himself perfectly light enough to jump on Jean’s stomach with a screeching rendition of “Good Morning to You” while slapping the other’s face pink till Jean eventually gathered enough sleepy mobility to chuck the little bastard off of him.  
  
“Thanks...” Jean yawned groggily and slightly annoyed, swinging his bare feet onto the floor that was cold with morning’s chill. Connie, who was wincing slightly with a grin and rubbing at his bruised tailbone from Jean’s shoving, laughed.  
  
“Dude, that was fun – can I wake you up more often?” He grinned, stretching up to a standing position, walking towards the other’s door and headed undoubtedly down the hall where Sasha was still sleeping in her monkey pjs with the little bananas on them, dead to the world and to the fact that both her boys were up at the ass crack of dawn from a previous slap fight.  
  
“Sure, but only if I can be the one to give you a permanent sleep.” He hummed, standing up with a slight zombie-like form to rummage through his sock drawer to find a pair that a) had the same color socks b) had no holes in them, and d) didn’t smell like foot stank.  
  
It was quite the challenge.  
  
“Aw, c’mon, Jean. No one likes a grouch in the morning.” Connie hummed, smiling with the tip of his tongue out slightly in a mocking motion. Jean rolled his eyes, his gaze amusingly settled on Connie’s pajama bottoms, a light blue in color with brown furred monkeys dancing around bright-as-fuck yellow bananas. Sasha sure was kind to allow Connie to wear her clothes once in a while when he felt like it.  
  
“You know who I bet really doesn’t like grouches in the morning? Maaaaarcooooo—OW!” Connie squawked, having a sock thrown at him, the bluntness of the gray wool thumping against the left side of his cheek.  
  
“You gotta stop doin’ that, man!” He whimpered, pouting in faux hurt for a moment before cracking into a slight smile at Jean’s chuckling near the slightly ajar sock drawer.  
  
“Aw, fuck you, I was gonna generously toast you a pop tart but nah, fuck that, you can make your own breakfast.” He giggled, finally leaving the other man’s room to scamper down the hall to jump back in bed and probably evilly squish his cold toes next to Sasha’s warm ones.  
  
Jean snorted in the empty air, shaking his head slightly as he dropped his sweats and boxers till they pooled at his ankles. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to getting bare ass naked in the quiet coldness of his room, willing himself to not look down at the “V” of curled dark hair, to stop his train of thought from going to that place. Sighing, he grappled around his small medicine box to find the 100mg/ml clear vial to his happiness and a sharp clean syringe. Smiling at the little liquid in the bottle and knowing he was going to be sore anyway from climbing up rocks and brambles he snatched up the box of clean gloves on top of his drawer and went to face the little mirror on his bedroom wall to start his day and hopefully end it with a successful date with Marco.  
  
...  
  
Jean knew Ymir was a trans woman. He knew because after the small get-together at the club where he drunkenly danced to Ke$ha and apparently threatened to take body shots off of Reiner, Ymir had asked Sasha if Jean was transgender, and Sasha being too drunk to hold onto that knowledge, confirmed as such. Jean couldn’t be mad though, because knowing another trans person was in his midst and had a semblance of knowing how very sucky and yet happy the world could be? Well, it was very much appreciated.  
  
Today Jean was quick to learn that Ymir apparently was pretty bold with giving out her advice to her fellow trans sisters and brothers, and Jean was no exception.  
  
“You’re not really going hiking, are you?” She asked Jean as soon as he pushed open the glass doors to the restaurant at 6:26 am, the customers not expected to enter the still closed establishment for another half hour.  
  
Her outburst would have been able to be perfectly handled by Jean, if it wasn’t for the fact that Marco was sitting at one of the tables in the middle near all the other employees. He was the only one not dressed in a dapper white coat and black slacks, instead wearing perfectly clean khaki shorts and what looked like well-used hiking boots and a thin zipped up jacket. The guy even had sunglass hanging from the collar of his shirt. Oh, Jean was in deep shit if that was what one wore for hiking.  
  
“Hah.” He said in return to Ymir’s question, her dark eyes narrowed, her brown freckled face seeming to be inescapable from every angle Jean turned and tried to avoid, like a gun set to a faulty trigger pointing right at him.  
  
Marco himself looked nervous at the question, standing up from his seat to grab at a backpack he had apparently brought for the excursion – Jean having only an elbow crook full of iced coffee in a brown paper bag and some of Levi’s baked cranberry white chocolate muffins from the shop. It was hard enough finding tennis shoes that didn’t have holes in them that would subsequently make his feet bleed from tramping out in mother freakin’ nature.  
  
Jean was already out of his element and he wasn’t even in...any...elements. Fuck.  
  
“Ymir, don’t be mean, Jean will be fine.” Marco chastised the taller woman, slightly, his nervous laughed caused from the idea that Jean might want to call the whole thing off.  
  
“Ah, yeah, no, I’m good. Really. I even have some band aids in my back pocket if I...y’know... get mauled by a bear.” He winced, walking over to the table laid out with a stack of menus that those with the first shift would be memorizing and going over. From what he had personally seen of Sasha furiously scribbling out meal plans and recipes on their couch back at the apartment, preparing for hungry customers looked frustrating and hard as hell.  
  
Ymir, sticking Jean suddenly with a more than unnerving look, huffed. She wore a particularly scary face already this early in the morning, and Jean really hated being at the end of it more than anything. He’d rather take meeting a bear on the hiking trail over pissing this lady off.  
  
“Sasha told me you have weak lungs. You shouldn’t go.” She said with a lack of subtlety that Jean instantly picked up on, a prick of sweat on the back of his neck and a jolt of insistence mixed with annoyance picking up his heart rate.  
  
“Really, I’m good.” He said, eyebrows drawn downward slightly in his whiny way of showing how frustrated he was. Ymir’s own brows quirked up, her perfectly straight row of slightly coffee stained teeth peeking from her easy snarl of a mouth.  
  
“Jean, if you have a lung condition maybe we should...” Marco was about to trail off, his excited glimmering eyes now giving way to concern that Jean didn’t want. Didn’t need.  
  
“Really, I’m good. As long as we go slowly, I should be fine. Plus...” Jean tried to smile with insistence, grabbing at a clunky piece of plastic and metal at the side of his hip, a strap dangling low from it. “I was gonna take pictures, remember?” He hummed, raising the gray and black camera for Marco to see, enjoying every second that those brown eyes lit back up. If it meant cracking a rib from his binder just to see Marco’s smile, so be it.  
  
Ymir only huffed, sinking back into her seat with a purposefully soured thud, scowl back in place. “Fine, enjoy peeing in the woods and following questionable trail markers into mosquito infested swamps.” She murmured, Marco choosing to smile at her words instead of being annoyed. God, Jean thought, this guy really was a better person than him.  
  
“Quick, while we have her blessing...” Marco laughed slightly, hoisting himself from his seat, Ymir huffing once again. Marco dug into his backpack and threw her a cranberry raspberry granola bar, which got her to smile with a smirk, tearing open the package with her teeth. So that’s how he placated the beast, Jean thought.  
  
After he worked the bag onto his shoulders by its padded straps, he came to grab softly at Jean’s shoulder and lead him to the exit, Jean himself holding the door open for the other. The sound of Thomas, Mina, and even Ymir, wishing them a fun time as they exited the restaurant brought an easiness to the two’s own chatter that progressed all the way to Marco’s olive green Jeep.  
  
...  
  
“So, um... I hope these shoes are okay?” Jean asked, gesturing to his sneakers that had seen better days, his toes almost poking through a tear-drop sized hole. A good half of the shoelace was missing on one – an accident that happened when Sasha thought it would be a good idea to let Connie babysit Reiner’s pit-bull pup for a week a few months ago. Marco only laughed at the other’s shy smile with an easy smile of his own, clearly a morning person.  
  
“They’ll do fine.” He assured the other, then, with a second thought hummed. “You’ll do fine.” He flicked his gaze off of the road for a slight second, turning to Jean.  
  
The two-toned blond had to shift away from those warm brown eyes, gaze fixed to the outside world beyond the car window for fear of Marco catching his blushing and smiling face. This guy was going to kill him with kindness, Jean just knew it.  
  
Only when after a few minutes passed of comfortable silence as Marco made a turn onto the highway did he speak up, seeing to remember something.  
  
“Oh! I wasn’t sure if you ate yet so I whipped up some breakfast burritos at the kitchen – they’re wrapped in foil in the backpack if you want to...”  
  
He trailed off, grunting under his breath as a little old lady in her sedan cut him off just then. Jean laughed slightly, embarrassed and pleased beyond belief that Marco would be so thoughtful to actually make him breakfast. He must have woken up incredibly early just to cook them as they were still warm in their foil.  
  
“Dude, thanks, that was really sweet of you.” Jean mumbled truthfully as he bit into the burrito that was as tangy as it was sweet with onions and bell peppers and lean pan fried meat.  
  
Marco shrugged sheepishly, though he couldn’t hide the delighted smile he now wore on his face.  
  
That smile made Jean’s own reservations dissipate, a friendly ease that wafted into the small space of the car causing both men’s eyes to soften, their shoulders to slump, and their lips to cement themselves into unwavering smiles.  
  
Even when Jean finished his fantastically superb breakfast burrito, a compliment he was sure to declare to Marco, the simplistic good nature of the ride was maintained. Mostly, because Jean took out his camera and started taking goofy shots of Marco while he drove, the other laughing with mirth, his perfect white teeth and shining eyes caught on Jean’s camera.  
  
“What are you doing?” Marco laughed after the sixth picture was taken, Jean himself grinning behind the lens, his thumb and index finger itching to get another good shot of the handsome man. “Before and after picture.” Jean shrugged with a head tilt, Marco barking out a laugh again at the bullshit answer, setting his eyes on the road and letting Jean content himself with taking as many pictures as he liked.  
  
46 in all, and those were just the non-blurry ones.  
  
...  
  
Another half an hour longer and Jean found them pulling into a slightly gravely parking lot, having driven through a slight detour of whining bluff roads that led to the mouth of the hiking trail.  
  
He’d be a lying son of a bitch if he didn’t admit he was nervous. Already his feet were sweating in his tube socks and tennis shoes, his knobby knees knocking into each other as he twisted his body back and forth to peek out of the jeep’s big blocked windows in order to gather his senses. So far all he saw were trees.  
  
Lots, and lots of trees.  
  
Fuckin’ great.  
  
Marco seemed to pick up on the other’s distress as he jerked the car to a stop, unclicking his seatbelt as easily as he pleased, Jean so stressed out he was battling with his own—and steadily losing.  
  
“Here.” Marco hummed, leaning over Jean to thumb at the giant release button of the seat belt strap that Jean seemed to have strangled around his hip in an effort to free himself.  
  
If Jean’s face bloomed a bright red as Marco pawed at his hip and the seatbelt buckle, Marco was kind enough to not mention it to Jean’s relief.  
  
...  
  
“Fuck.” Jean whined, staring up at the winding path of the trail Marco thought Jean was completely capable to tackle even though he was a complete novice and already dying from the constricting cinches of his binder, his rubber dick and balls already sweating in his pants.  
  
“Don’t worry, we’re only hiking to the first ridge, it has a pretty sweet view of the valley—after that I’ll take you back to the restaurant and you can totally show everyone that one picture you took of me cursing out that little old lady who stole our parking space. Pay back will make you feel better.” Marco laughed at Jean’s soured face once more, clapping him on the back before moving forward into the dangerous wilderness.  
  
Rummaging in his bag for something, Marco’s hand clenched around what looked like a little tube, which he then handed to a still glum Jean.  
  
Peering down at the cool plastic tube he grunted as he read the label, “SPF 50.”  
  
Jean snorted, thumbing open the cap and splattering a generous amount on his palm, working it with his finger to streak it on his bare skinny arms.  
  
“Thanks.” He hummed, feeling a bit better, liking the way Marco seemed to always want to take care of others, whether it was being a designated driver that night at the club, giving Ymir a granola bar when she was cranky, or making sure Jean was properly fed in the morning and protected from the sun.  
  
“If this is your way of telling me I’m a whiny little white boy, then I totally agree.” Jean snorted again, Marco joining in with a giggle as they passed the first trail sign and began to lazily descend on the trail, the dried pine needle path smoothed down from constant wear.  
  
“Just lookin’ out for you, man.” Marco grinned, taking the tube back and pocketing it in his backpack.  
  
Jean smiled softly, a look he knew was bordering on dopey-looking, but he didn’t care. Nudging Marco’s shoulder in an adventurous slide of skin that was warmed by the spring sunlight, Jean cheekily walked past the other, already feeing a slight burn in his legs that as caused by the uphill strain. After a few steps he was already ahead of Marco, who seemed to be amused by Jean’s wobbling trekking, his eyes unabashedly trained onto a certain aspect of the two-toned blond. Looking back once more, Jean’s eyes sparkled when he caught Marco’s gaze trained on Jean’s ass as he climbed upwards. Jean huffed happily, Marco sputtering and blushing at being caught. “Enjoying the view?” He asked with a smirk and a wink, the other blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. Before Marco could give his embarrassed answer Jean had thrown back his head and cackled, actually enjoying himself as he sprinted up a bit more, the tenseness in his chest from the binder hardly bothering him anymore.  
  
He could hear Marco laughing boisterously behind him, jogging up to join him, his back pack jingling with all its zippers as he caught up with Jean, the two walking closer together then when they started up the grand hill, elbows brushing and fingers caressing.  
  
Perhaps Jean could get used to this whole nature thing, that was, as long as he had the right company to enjoy it with.  
  
...  
  
It was about forty-five minutes in and Jean knew he was being silly but glaring at every tree they passed actually made him feel better, and god damn it, he didn’t care how stupid it made him look.  
  
It was when he was thinking about the logic behind Pocahontas’s “Colors of the Wind” song, and how bullshit nature really was, when aside from his wheezing and panting he heard a familiar shrieking voice of surprise.  
  
About three seconds later he was ass to the dirt and crushed in a suffocating hug instigated by one Hanji Zoe, professional hiker and Biologist extraordinaire.  
  
From the corner of his eye Jean could see Marco’s bemused expression as he watched Jean get wrestled to the upturned earth by this enthusiastic person, zher elbows digging into Jean’s stomach and zher other arm locked around his neck to give him a nuzzling noogie.  
  
“Damn it, Hanji, humans need to...breathe.” Jean wheezed, clawing at their arm to free his throat. Giggling and murmuring a “Whoopsie”, Hanji released the other, Jean coughing slightly and rubbing at his neck, glaring at zher slightly.  
  
“My little Jean Kirschtein, tackling the great outdoors, never thought I’d see the day!” Zhe exclaimed, grasping a bit too roughly by his arms and hoisting him up, Marco instantly at his side with a faintly worried smile now on his face, handing Jean an iced coffee and leading him to a protruding rock to sit on and catch his breath.  
  
After chugging the ice cold drink, and slightly gagging because as much as he liked coffee, chugging one was not too pleasant—he turned to his hug attacker.  
  
“I should have known that of all the trails in this goddamn forest, you’d be on ours.” Jean snorted wearily, taking a more cautious sip of his drink as Marco, like a godsend, rubbed his back soothingly. It was a nice gesture, and Jean hoped that the other two before him would chalk up his red face to his previous coughing fit.  
  
Hanji, seeing that if Jean was capable to sass zher, then he was capable to talk without coughing, beamed.  
  
“I’m taking records of wildflower species in the area, especially cornflowers and chickweed—what’s your excuse for outdoor activity?” Zhe asked, zher shining eyes flicking to Marco with amusement.  
  
Jean huffed. “For your nosy information, I’m on a date.” He capped his empty iced coffee and rolled the glass bottle against his palms in a nervous gesture, not catching the quiet smile Marco held on his face at the other’s words.  
  
“Hello, I’m Marco Bodt. Ah, the reason Jean is on this trail.” Marco extended his hand to the other, zher fingers brushing zher glasses further on zher face before Hanji clasped Marco’s own in a firm jolting handshake that had Marco wincing.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Marco. I’m Hanji, Jean’s boss, so if he’s giving you a hard time, just tell me. I’ll be sure to straighten out his bad manners the next time he comes in for work. I’ll make him give out the free samples.” Zhe grinned, Jean groaning at the other’s proposal.  
  
“He’s actually been a very good sport, hasn’t complained once...” Marco assured the other, which was technically the truth, as Jean never verbally made his protests known, instead he just kicked absent pebbles with more force than was necessary when he was angry that the sun was to hot and the road was too dusty and the bright new shoots of thistles were too sharp when they collected to his socks. Bless Marco for understanding Jean was trying his best to keep his grumpiness in check.  
  
Hanji though, was still surprised that Jean could be anything but thorny. “Really?” Zhe asked, and Marco nodded with sincerity, getting up from his own rock seat as Jean stretched his legs, obviously wanting to get back to the walk, selfishly wanting Marco all to himself again.  
  
“Yes, really. I can be nice.” Jean grumbled with a slight smile, giving his legs another good stretch before he turned back to Hanji. “Well, it was nice seeing you, but we have to make it to the first ridge, I promised this Boy-Scout,” “—Eagle Scout,” Marco hummed with a laugh, Jean nodding at the correction. “Right. I promised this Eagle Scout here, that we’d at least get that far.” Jean mumbled, giving Hanji a little wave, but zhe began to walk alongside them.  
  
“Oh! What a coincidence! I was just about to snoop around there, I’m trying to find some Achillea millefolium!” Hanji cooed, linking zher arm with Jean, the other prickling a bit.  
  
Marco, at the mention of the complicated word that Jean didn’t even bother to digest, beamed. “Wild Yarrow? Oh, I think I saw some on my hike last week up a few more miles ahead!” Marco grinned towards Jean’s boss, Jean himself wearing a betrayed look on his face. Excuse him, but wasn’t this date between the two of them?  
  
“Really? The yellow and lilac common variety too?” Zhe asked, encouraged by Marco’s dimpled smile.  
  
“Yeah! I snagged a few handfuls, seeing as how the forestry department doesn’t mind, and I was sure they were the lilac buds – we use them sometimes in dessert toppings at the restaurant I work at.” Marco was giddy already, Jean could hear it in his voice and it made his growing sour mood halt, if only ever so slightly. That was, before Hanji brought his bad mood back, souring faster than ever.  
  
Hanji positively shrieked in zher excitement. “The shoots are tender too, great in salads!” Zhe gushed, Jean internally groaning and whimpering with a grumble. It looked as if his date was about to be snatched by his weird and enthusiastic boss.  
  
“You don’t mind if I tag along just for a bit, do you Jean? Just until you guys get to the ridge—then I promise to leave you two be!” Hanji simply pouted, zher big brown eyes with specks of gold in them magnified by the positively ugly green and orange goggle-glasses zhe wore.  
  
Jean sighed, the noise long winded and woeful, but he mumbled a dejected “yes, you can stay,” that had them both grinning.  
  
Jean guessed it wasn’t too bad, as for his troubles Marco held his hand tight as they went back to walking up the steepened slope, Hanji skipping and grinning, zher and Marco geeking out over edible plants and other nature topics that Jean hadn’t the slightest clue about.  
  
Marco held his hand the entire time up the ridge to Jean’s delight.  
  
...  
  
It was no surprise that by the time all three of them were about another mile into the hike, that Hanji and Marco became the best of friends. If Jean was a liar, he would say that he was not petty and especially not jealous—but Jean was an honest man. Being a third wheel on your own date sucked and Jean knew it. So, being the jerk that he was, he decided to put an end to it...by passive aggressively and greedily eating all the white chocolate macadamia nut protein bars all by himself so that no one else, especially Hanji, could have one bite. In his defense, it was a pretty good plan after the first few bites—but the thing about white chocolate macadamia nut protein bars is after you eat about five of them you feel like you’re going to puke up your lungs.  
  
Hence why they had to cut their hike short and say farewell to Hanji as zhe climbed the rest of the way up to the ridge while Marco carried Jean back down piggy-back style, laughing all the way good naturedly as Jean glared at the other’s neck till he was sure his eyes would bore a hole in the back of the other’s head.  
  
Jean wouldn’t admit it later, but being carried back down by Marco’s strong arms while the other cooed softly about how he had a thermos of mint tea that he could heat up back at the restaurant to help Jean’s aching tummy made Jean fall even more in love with the other than he thought he could.  
  
...

Jean was still nursing a thermos full of harsh peppermint tea to ease his queasy flushed face by the time Marco’s pretty olive green Jeep parked in front of Jean’s work. The breakfast burritos had long since been eaten along with Levi’s famous muffins that Jean brought, and though Jean himself had just previously ill-advisedly scarfed down five protein bars, the two men were still hungry and wanting a quick meal of a hot Panini or a croissant from the café.  
  
“Okay, so, I have to warn you. The people I work with are...a little weird.” Jean furrowed his brow, taking another sip of peppermint tea and swiping at his lips with his tongue.  
  
“Hnn? Kay...” Marco mumbled, his eyes trained on the other’s mouth.  
  
Jean frowned playfully. “Hey, you can stare at my attractiveness later, but really, let me brief you before we go in there. I’m only trying to save that cute ass of yours.” Jean laughed, Marco immediately snapping out of his daze, blaming his lack of a filter on heat stroke from the outdoors. Jean wasn’t buying it by the way Marco blushed even redder.  
  
“Anyway, don’t stand near the divider exit, Erd hates that. He will literally like...punch you. Also, stand clear of this one asshole, Auruo. He means well, but he’s a menace with a coffee cup. He will trip, and he will fall, and you will be drenched in mocha.” Jean narrowed his eyes, Marco laughing at the other’s expression.  
  
“Got it, anyone else?” He asked, unbuckling his seat belt and checking to make sure he had his wallet.  
  
Jean thought for a minute in concentration. “Yeah. There will be this one guy, real short, black hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Don’t piss him off.” Jean nodded, more to himself than Marco, as he slid out of the car and onto the sidewalk. A perturbed but amused Marco following him all the way to the shop.  
  
...  
  
Jean had to admit, it was nice to hang out at the café when he himself was off duty, allowing him to stroll through the glass doors with an easy air about him instead of a grumpy shadow of gloom hovering over him from awaiting a day dealing with stupid people and there even stupider drink orders.  
  
However, apparently the day really wasn’t going to be as easy as Jean once anticipated, as he and Marco walked to the front stool seating in front of a length of the café.  
  
There customers already sat, one head of short blond, the other black, and the last a mousy brown.  
  
Jean gritted his teeth. Jaeger. Fan-fucking-tastic.  
  
It seemed like Petra had already kindly taken the threes order, as she was sliding forth their treats, a small loose-leaf lemon herbal tea for Armin, a vanilla chai for Mikasa, and a big crumbling chocolate chip cookie for Eren complete with a ceramic mug of cocoa, made fresh just this morning from real melted chocolate – on the finest for the cafés customers. Jean kinda wished Petra would have used the packet mix kind for Eren, the asshole probably wouldn’t know the difference.  
  
“Hey, horse face!” Eren called first as Jean reluctantly slid along the side of the booth, wary for a lurking Erd as he went past the case and to the employee work station to fix Marco up something special. He was thinking maybe a nice hibiscus iced tea with some lemonade, Marco seeming like the type to like sweet flowery drinks. He’d see if he could poke around the back, maybe find those spice apple caramel cookies Levi was working on perfecting these past couple of days. Marco would surely love those.  
  
Displeased that Jean hadn’t flinched from his obviously superb and well-crafted insult, Jaeger sulked.  
  
“What, not even a ‘fuck you, asshole’? Jean, I’m hurt.” Eren pouted, breaking his cookie in half and popping it in his mouth.  
  
“Not today, Jaeger, I’m actually in a good mood right now.” Jean hummed, turning on the toaster and flicking his gaze quickly to Marco.  
  
“What kind of bread do you like?” Jean asked the other, scrunching on a spare work apron that Petra flung his way. Marco hummed, watching Jean stick his hands under the warm water of the faucet near the pristine cappuccino cups.  
  
“Whole wheat, please!” Marco smiled, Jean himself nodding and going to work quickly, Petra absently helping him by giving him a bread knife or opening the fridge so Jean could get his hands on some crisp veggies.  
  
“Ohhhhh, so it’s all his fault you’re happy today?” Eren grumbled with eyes trained on Marco, kicking absently at the bottom paneling of the employee divider from where he sat at his stool. Marco beamed, though his voice was curt.  
  
“If I can make him happy, then I can just as easily wipe that smug look from your face and make you miserable.” Marco hummed.  
  
Eren sputtered, Jean himself stopping his work to bark out a laugh.  
  
“Oh, thank god, someone shut him up.” Came a voice round the corner. Rolling his sleeves up and shaking his wrist, obviously taking a break from doing paperwork in the back office, Levi snatched at a muffin from a display case.  
  
“Hey, Levi.” Jean mumbled, a laugh still to his voice as he slid Marco his Panini, hot and melting with cheese. Marco smiled appreciatively, grabbing at it with gusto.  
  
“‘Hey’ yourself, Kirschtein. The fuck are you doing behind the counter? You’re not supposed to be working today.” Levi grumbled, peeling at the papering on his muffin. Jean shrugged cheekily, grabbing at the boiled hot water for Marco’s tea as Petra got the measuring scoops ready for the loose leaf. Petra really was a godsend.  
  
“He’s working for his booooooyfriend, today.” Eren spoke with a good natured smile, Armin to the far left of him sighing apologetically towards Marco who just snorted, Jean himself laughing nervously.  
  
But before either man could deny or confirm Eren’s eloquent statement, Levi’s disinterested eyes flicked to Eren.  
  
“Excuse me. Who are you, and why are you breaking my homemade cookie into bite sized pieces and getting crumbs everywhere and eating them with your fingers making chocolate stains all over my spotless counter?” Levi spoke, his hardened gaze actually making Eren drop his cookie on his plate like a chastised child.  
  
“I um...ah.” Eren mumbled, instantly wiping his chocolate stained fingers on his pants. Levi curled his lip up with disgust. “Use a napkin, Jesus.” He snarled. Jean, trying not to laugh, handed Eren a few napkins, his other outreached hand setting Marco’s drink lightly on the counter.  
  
Only, Eren hadn’t moved to wipe his messy fingers, he just clutched at the whiteness of the napkin and held it in his grip hard, like he was concentrating intently but couldn’t bring his fevered thoughts to fruition.  
  
Jean almost felt bad for him, knowing Levi had that kind of effect on almost everyone.  
  
“Now you won’t stop staring, stop staring.” Levi commanded, and now Jean really felt bad for Eren, knowing damn well that Levi hardly ever said sorry, and the two-toned blond was pretty sure Eren wouldn’t get one from Levi in a long time...that was, if Levi didn’t kill him right here and there. Mikasa, to Eren’s left, seemed to sense as such, as she stood tall and imposing, leveling the littler man with her stare but he wouldn’t meet her gaze, his nose looking up at Eren.  
  
“Why is this little prick staring at me?” Levi asked Jean with a quick turn of his head and Jean just shrugged, grabbing at Marco’s cup like it was routine, Marco giving the other a small quiet nervous smile, as if to waver the tenseness that Levi was lending to the room because of Eren.  
  
Levi sighed before he scrapped the paper cup of his muffin, snatching a clean plate from the stack on the counter and walking away after making a small polite nod to Petra as he left.  
  
It was barely a few seconds since Levi left that Eren seemed to snap out of his stupor and in a flash he leaned heavily against the counter, nearly knocking over Marco’s fresh new cup of tea. Marco frowned, guarding his drink—Jean made it for him, after all.  
  
“Hey, Jean, can you put in a good word for me with that Levi guy?” Eren asked, his voice breathless and eyes shining—it scared the shit out of Jean.  
  
“Eren, you can’t be serious!” Mikasa protested at once, snapping her fair and hardened gaze to her adopted brother. Eren was about to run his mouth but stopped himself just in time, knowing better than to piss off his sister.  
  
“Don’t worry, Mikasa, Levi would never go for Eren anyway.” Jean smirked, Marco himself snorting with laughter as he made room for Jean to set his own drink down, the two facing each other as if they were on a close and intimate date and not helping Jaeger get laid.  
  
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Eren blurted out, causing Jean to sigh through clenched teeth.  
  
“Eren, inside voice.” Armin chastised his friend, the other rolling his eyes in return, though he did lower his grating voice.  
  
“He would spit you out, that’s what I meant.” Jean huffed, knowing fairly well that Levi would indeed have no interest in Eren, predominantly because of the other’s admirably brash and courageous attitude—that, and Eren for the life of him would not make a good dating partner for Jean’s foul tempered boss. Levi was a trans man, just like Jean, and judging by Eren’s track record? Yeah, there was no way that would ever work.  
  
But then Eren started to pout and even Marco was giving Jean a quizzical look, because surely someone as disciplined as Levi would be good for Eren, so Jean sighed, taking a passive aggressive slurp of his own tea, a fresh cup of peppermint that had Marco smiling with approval.  
  
“Fine, fine, but I should warn you, you’ll probably make him hate you.” Jean huffed, flicking his brow up at Eren’s incredulous and betrayed look. But soon the tinkling cow bell at the top of the shop—because of course the establishment Jean worked at couldn’t have a normal little bell instead of a big brass cow bell—alerted the group to a new arrival, and a very dirty scuffed up one at that.  
  
Hanji burst through the door with as much vigor as Jean had ever seen in zher, with arms all scratched and bleeding slightly and zher knees a sharp rubbed green from grass stains. Zhe smelled of sweat and foul dust and Jean didn’t see why he expected anything less, honestly.  
  
“Hi, hi! Sorry I’m such a mess, I found some cougar cubs a few miles into the canyon trail and I stopped to play with the little tykes—things got real interesting when the parent showed up, heh.” Zhe exclaimed, Petra rolling her eyes and handing zher coworker a towel with a light spritz of water to scrub out all that dirt and wild cat fur.  
  
“So what are we talking about?” Hanji asked, wiping zher face clean with the cloth and throwing it back to Jean who caught it with a grumble. “Why Eren dating Levi is one of the most disastrous ideas to have ever come into existence.” Jean snorted, Hanji zherself nodding gravely. They had known enough about Eren from his times frequenting the shop occasionally to know Levi and he would not be the best match. Like, at all. Like, pairing up Eren with one of the cougar cubs Hanji had found a few hours ago would probably be less dangerous to guy’s existence.  
  
If the group amassed outside the pastry cases thought they were being discreet and quiet, then they were entirely in the wrong. Composed of Armin and Mikasa being the sound voices of reasoning, Marco and Jean looking at each other unabashedly with dopey smiles, and Hanji listing off all the ways that Eren could possibly wind up dead if he dated zher co-boss, all five of them, excluding Petra who was minding her own damn business and reading her Garden weekly magazine in the corner, would have noticed the gruff throat clearing noise of one irritated Levi.  
  
“I don’t know if any of you noticed but you are all increasingly loud and I can’t concentrate on my work, and...Hanji why are you bleeding on my linoleum floor?” Levi asked, his eyes drawn to the other’s scabs and scrapes that Hanji of course proudly wore. But before the other got an answer, Eren shot up from his wobbly seat, slamming his palms flat on the counter table.  
  
“Would you like to go on a date with me, sir?!”  
  
Jean would have almost laughed at the ‘sir’ part, but he bit back his giggle, his eyes watering as he watched Levi’s cool face harden.  
  
Turning to the two-toned blond, Levi inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Jean, is this the little transphobic prick you keep bitching about?” He asked, no form of subtlety whatsoever, his tone making Eren sink down in his seat.  
  
Not trusting his voice, Jean just nodded soberly.  
  
Finding the other’s answer succinct enough, Levi turned to Eren who had fully slumped in his seat with a solemn pout. Mikasa, though Jean knew she was quite pleased, had the heart to look offended by the other’s tone to her brother.  
  
Looking the other up and down from where he sat like a defeated puppy, Levi curled his lip up in the beginnings of a snarl.  
  
“You couldn’t handle a guy like me.”  
  
With those parting words he snatched another muffin from the display case and strolled back down the hallway to his office for some peace and quiet. A few seconds later they all heard the slamming of his door being shut closed.  
  
In an instant Eren whirled on Jean.  
  
“Why did you tell him I was transphobic?!” Eren demanded, his voice unforgiving and it almost made Jean sorry for him, almost. “Because...you are?” Jean huffed, clearing everyone’s plates away so Petra wouldn’t have to.  
  
But before Eren could protest even more to Jean’s unfair accusation, Marco timidly spoke up, his brows furrowed.  
  
“What does ‘transphobic’ mean?” He asked, his voice laced with confusion that Jean honestly had no clue how to deal with.  
  
“It’s when someone is prejudice or is actively oppressing trans people.” Hanji, thankfully, spoke, zher voice soft and slightly astonished as zhe settled next to Marco on the last stool the counter seating boasted. From the far left Eren grumbled, digging his chin into the crook of his folded arms that rested heavily on the counter. He huffed sourly, giving Jean the stink eye from where he sulked, a gesture that Jean heartily ignored.  
  
“Well, then what does ‘trans’ mean?” Marco asks with just the same amount of curiosity that has Jean wringing the cleaning rags for the counter between his hands underneath the trays, chomping his back teeth together to keep from whining out in nervousness.  
  
Hanji, being a godsend, and as patient as ever, carefully explained to Marco what trans was and what it meant to be trans, Marco kindly nodding and being patient when zhe even explained how zhe considered zherself to be under the trans “umbrella”.  
  
Smiling with his teeth, Marco nodded, his furrowed brows becoming less heavy. “Oh, so people like me and Jean are...cis, and people like Levi are trans?” He said, coming to his own conclusion with another dimple smile that seemed to exude sweetness and sunshine all at once.  
  
Both swallowing in their throats, Armin and Mikasa surprisingly wide eyed and quiet, Hanji and Jean nodded, stunned.  
  
“Yes, Marco, that’s exactly right.” Zhe said with a quiet smile.  
  
Jean himself looked like he was either about to pass out or thud to the coffee-sticky floor or jump in the air as high as he could with a fist pump, shouting to the heavens and how they had not yet forsaken him.  
  
Eren, however, broke the silence with a smile and a snort, mumbling how he had a stomach ache and wanted to leave, Mikasa and Armin already sliding out of their respective chairs.  
  
Smiling at Jean and looking at him like he was the biggest dork ever from his stunned face, Marco stood up as well.  
  
“Yeah, I have to leave too, Ymir will have my head if I don’t help her with the dinner prep work and she’s already swamped as it is.” Marco hummed with a quick stretch of his arms before he fished his wallet out, handing Jean some money to pay for the sandwich and drinks which Jean pushed back into his warm big hands with a smirk, finally able to rejoin the human race as a sentient being.  
  
“Nah, it’s on the house.” Jean grinned at Marco’s surprised and pleased face, watching the other take back the slightly crumped bills. The bell above the shop exist clanked slightly as the inseparable three made their way out, Hanji having already excused zherself to the restroom with Petra to clean zher angry pink scratches in the shape of little cougar claw marks.  
  
“Thank you, but I’d still like to repay you,” Marco laughed then with a lightness that Jean wanted to always hear, wanted to close his eyes and drink it in like a love struck fool, which he guessed was what he was. Before the two-toned blond realized it however, his thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by the taller man leaning into Jean and giving him a soft kiss on his lips, before with a wink and a smile and a promise to call Jean later tonight, he walked out the door.  
  
Blinking and dumbstruck, Jean swallowed thickly in his throat, resisting the urge to lick his lips, to press his fingers to his mouth and try and see if the warmth he felt on his lips was real, if Marco had really kissed him.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Kirschtein, don’t fuck this one up.” Levi’s voice suddenly shocked Jean out of his stupor, the shorter man staring out towards the glass door Marco had just left through.  
  
Smiling suddenly with a sharp grin that pleasantly hurt his face, Jean stiffened up straight, bringing his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll do my best, sir.” He vowed, his bright grin not even waning after Levi rolled his eyes and told him to go home.


	5. Touch on the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean was never very good at explaining things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to Carsan, who cheered me on and helped me write this chapter as well as edit. --hugs tight--

The movie theater lights were blinding when they flicked on after the long roll of credits came to an end, Jean rubbing his eyes with his knuckles to get rid of the sting. Marco didn’t seem to mind the change in lights, his other hand still clasped warmly to Jean’s free one, his thumb moving in lazy circles over Jean’s own.  
  
They had been dating for about two months now, November slowly chilling over into a rainy California December. Jean was pleasantly surprised by all the things the two shared in common, both loving distinct music (though Marco still couldn’t stand Jean’s punk rock mix tapes), both loving to riff on movies, and both could burp their ABCs. Both were closer to friends than family and they both loved to cuddle. They got along amazingly well. A little too well, Jean often found himself worrying. It wasn’t that Marco hadn’t shown himself to be anything but a great guy—he of course had.  
  
On the second week of them dating Marco had surprised Jean with a small romantic picnic in the park, Jean bringing a large bottle of perfectly brewed passion fruit tea he made at home, Marco supplying two ceramic bowls complete with forks and a large Tupperware of the sweetest and most mouthwatering fruit salad Jean had ever had. They stayed at the park till even the birds went to roost in the tall oak trees flanking the shaggy lawn of the park, the lazy streaks of melting sunset colors painting their faces pinker than their blushes.  
  
The dates became more frequent, something that honestly terrified the shit out of Jean. Each time Connie, grumbling and shoving one of his pinkies in his ear, walked into Jean’s room and threw the two-toned blond’s blaring cellphone at him with annoyance from the sound, Marco was always on the other line with his cheerful lovely voice that had Jean sighing happily with every word the other said.  
  
But as they exited the theater, Jean laughing as Marco not so sneakily tried to swipe a few kernels of his leftover buttery popcorn, the blond felt a twinging heat in his gut. After every date he had considered telling Marco about who he was, he only thought it was fair—not only to Marco but to himself. As much as it would hurt him, Jean just didn’t think he could be in a relationship with a guy that didn’t accept him. Jean didn’t want to put himself through that again.  
  
He knew he should tell Marco, and tell him soon, that he wasn’t like most guys. If Jean was being nice to himself, he would say he was unique—but not everyone thought men like Jean were that special, more often than not he was seen as an oddity, as his years dating in college taught him so.  
  
Jean was an ‘other’, a person that no one hardly took a chance on because he was either too complicated, too ‘strange’, or they just didn’t see him as a guy at all. Those were the ones that hurt the most.  
  
Jean pursed his lips, snuggling into his jacket and pressing his arm against Marco’s own for warmth as they left the theater, the taste of the sour patch kids Marco had generously shared with him still burning his tongue pleasantly.  
  
The movie they had watched was honestly crap—something about ice princesses and talking snowmen, and both of them delighted themselves in making fun of the shitty animation and horrendously messy storyline as they walked back to Marco’s Jeep, the taller of the two mumbling how he couldn’t wait to turn the car heater on.  
  
As they slid inside, Jean sank in his seat with a long winded sigh, the noise causing Marco to flick his gaze over to him as he pulled out of the slightly crowded parking lot, the gaudy Christmas decorations twinkling above and around them at all angles from the decorated shop painting plinks of light on both their faces.  
  
“Jean, are you okay?” Marco asked, furrowing his dark brows slightly as he eased on the brake towards a red light, the feathered rain starting to pepper his windshield causing the red lights to appear molten and runny.  
  
Jean twitched his lips into what he hoped looked like a real smile, his troubled thoughts for once pulling him too deep into his mind’s fears, and Marco noticed. Trying his best to keep his dark eyes on the road, Marco chewed the bottom of his lip, his mouth clamoring to put a smile on his face, but it just looked like Jean’s. Fake.  
  
Jean leaned forward in his seat, making a small noise in the back of his throat before he just decided to squash the heavy feelings churning in his gut. If he was going to tell Marco that he was trans, he’d rather not do it during evening traffic in a car that was in mid-motion—not that he didn’t trust Marco, but the statistics of having the reaction to Jean coming out be a pleasant one just weren’t in Jean’s favor.  
  
“I’m okay, I think that movie just really lowered my standards for good cinema.” Jean laughed, the noise sounding rougher and a little bit more nervous than he intended and he really hoped Marco didn’t pick up on it.  
  
The other’s brows didn’t unfurl and he still looked a little worried, but he smiled and laughed back nonetheless, the motion making Jean relax even more. It made the few minutes’ drive back to Jean’s apartment less awkward, the two conversing about their favorite movies—Marco’s being Fried Green Tomatoes and Jean sheepishly telling the other his favorite would have to be the first Toy Story. Jean always thought Woody was the coolest fucking character when he was a kid and he’d fight anyone that said otherwise, Marco laughing as Jean ranted about why Toy Story was one of the best films because even the sequels were good.  
  
By the time the two had set up another movie date, this time at Marco’s apartment when his roommate Mina would be gone and they’d have the place to themselves, Marco already pulled up to the stout and stylish apartment building that Jean called home.  
  
The rain sliding down the windshield had turned heavy from the drive and the two were cocooned in the hushed background noise of the radio and the pattering of rain, a noise that no matter how hard Jean tried to convince himself was not romantic—actually was. It didn’t help either that Marco had stopped biting his lip in favor of licking at the plump flesh, Jean mapping the motion of the tip of the other’s tongue as it made its journey. Jean whined softly, suddenly feeling flushed and a little out of breath, like his binder was a little too tight, but pleasantly so. Jean knew what would happen next and he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit he was anticipating it.  
  
It wouldn’t be the first time that Marco had leaned into Jean with his charming smile and gave him a soft kiss, one that would quickly delve into something more passionate, wilder—it happened six times so far, and yes, Jean was keeping count. Marco’s kisses were intense and awesome as fuck and Jean wanted to remember each and every one of them.  
  
It wasn’t that Jean was a lip virgin or even a virgin, he had a few flings in college, mostly guys interested in fucking the weird kid—a lot of them mistaking him for a lesbian, which really pissed not only Jean off but Connie as well, the other’s short friend telling Jean he didn’t have to sleep with losers like that, but Jean was always afraid that if he didn’t sleep with guys like that then who really was left for him?  
  
He hoped he didn’t have to settle for losers anymore. He wanted Marco, sweet, lovely Marco. Intelligent Marco who could explain all the types of ways to cook a steak to perfection and who knew how to tell when bread was fresh by the crackle it makes when you press against it. Marco who carried down Jean a hill for two miles because Jean passive aggressively ate five protein bars in a row because he was jealous for the other’s affection. Marco who was now caressing the side of Jean’s face with his thumb as if Jean was something handsome and blessed all at once, the other’s jaw moving smoothly as he kissed Jean gently, sensing the other’s apprehension and willingness all at once.  
  
Jean didn’t want to settle, he wanted to be with Marco for a long time, if he could help it. He at least wanted to try.  
  
He wanted to try, but wanting and doing were not the same thing, something Jean realized very quickly in that moment when Marco’s big warm hands innocently trailed over the cold dividing space of their seats to nestle at the dip in Jean’s stomach. Fingers gently nipped under the fabric of Jean’s flannel green jacket, knuckles brushing the warmth of his stomach and catching on the other’s proudly and finally grown happy trail of hair that was the result of long months of hormone therapy.  
  
In that moment Jean realized that trying was not the same thing as doing and that he was not a man that Marco had ever intimately encountered in his life before and that scared Jean.  
  
Head still groggy with the fog of rain and the smoothed sounds of the other’s happy groans, Jean found himself drawing slowly away from the kiss. He didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want the other’s lips to slide from his own and not mold back into the biting kisses that Marco seemed to be so fond of. He didn’t want to snatch his hand from atop his seat belt to thumb at the big glaring red button that Jean didn’t see with his eyes but felt in the deepest recesses of his mind because his entire life was always enhanced by a big red button of escape that if he tried hard enough he could fumble awake and free himself.  
  
This didn’t feel like freeing himself. To tell Marco would be to free himself, but he just couldn’t take that risk, not yet.  
  
So when he pressed that big red button, when he clutched his hand into a fist at Marco’s softly worn rust colored sweater that almost matched his skin tone when the fall sun caught on his face, and when he slid his lips away with a hiccup of breath, Jean knew he had made a decision.  
  
Marco’s eyes, still clouded with lust that Jean was slightly and guiltily delighted that he created, were dark and confused as Jean smiled with the edge of his lips. Brushing his cold and shaking fingers that would not or could not still, he brushed against Marco’s cheeks for a slowed second before he escaped. Pushing the car door open and stepping into the onslaught of the rain he ducked into the stormy outside before whispering and shaky goodnight.  
  
He didn’t want to think about the way Marco’s eyes looked more concerned for him than disappointed. He didn’t want to think about the way the car was still so inviting and brightly lit as he walked in the heavy pressure of the pelting rain. He didn’t want to think about the way that he watched from his apartment window as Marco sat in his car for another two minutes to make sure Jean made it past the gate and inside safely.  
  
...  
  
It was two days since that night and the rain hadn’t stopped since, dredging the streets with tepid water and stuffing the gutters full of maple leaves clumped in dirt. Thankfully Marco didn’t seem too miffed by Jean’s behavior, as he still texted Jean like nothing was wrong even though Jean knew perfectly well that something indeed was. It didn’t help that Jean still felt like utter shit for just bolting on Marco, the first guy that had really given Jean the time of day and really made him feel comfortable with who he was.  
  
Before Marco had driven off Jean had found himself torn between racing down the stairs in his already bare feet and flinging himself against the driver car door to confess everything to Marco or just cower underneath the elevated kitchen window in a fetal position like the piss baby he was.  
  
Obviously, he picked the latter.  
  
Connie’s secret stash of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream could only do so much to soothe the heart ache and anxiety the two-toned blond felt—and the half-hearted punch in the head he got from Connie for eating said ice cream didn’t make him feel any better. Honestly, the chunky cherry and dark chocolate combination only gave him a stomach ache after the fifth bite and the lump on his head from one of Connie’s knuckles made his head ache even worse.  
  
Jean guessed that the fact that he started his shark week the next day was the universe’s way of balancing out the shitty-ness Jean had put into the world when he left Marco Bodt all alone in his car out in the December rain.  
  
...  
  
Sinking his ass into the couch cushion after his shift from work, Jean snuggled into the lint rolled covering, grabbing the hot water bottle Sasha had lovingly heated up for him as she greeted him at the door and sticking it to his swollen cramping belly. Giving him a kiss on the head and a hair ruffle as she headed out the door, she took away the frozen thin mints he had been hoarding and using to fill the ache in his heart with a tsking click of her tongue. She had told him constantly the day before that Marco honestly didn’t seem too hurt by Jean’s actions at work, he was functioning normally enough and smiling like his usual self. Marco was a big boy, and Sasha told Jean as such. If anything he seemed more concerned about Jean than himself, that piece of information just making Jean feel even worse for running out on him without even a concise word of explanation.  
  
As soon as Sasha left to go get her wine colored hair touched up at the salon, Jean still couldn’t help but feel bad at the way he treated Marco. Surely the guy deserved an explanation. Well...  
  
Jean pouted in the quietness of the apartment, the only sound coming from the Christmas movie re-runs that always seemed to play this time of year, reminding Jean of the childhood he wished he could forget. He huffed out sourly, shifting deeper into the sagging couch that was beat up because of Connie’s insistent jumping on it all these years.  
  
Jean didn’t want to go down the path of all the reasons he hadn’t just told Marco flat out in the car. He didn’t want the anxiety that came with dissecting all the things that he did because then that meant that he would come to some realization that maybe he didn’t trust Marco with the knowledge that his new boyfriend was trans. Jean gritted his teeth. Marco and Jean himself deserved better.  
  
At the sound of his ring tone, half grainy and gritty in the heavy coldness of the apartment, Jean jumped. Snatching it up on reflex, he looked at the sender of the text—Marco.  
  
“Hey Jean, what’s up?” The text read, all in perfect grammar because that was the kind of guy Marco was—perfect.  
  
Jean frowned, debating telling the truth, that he felt like shit. He was moody and emotionally drained and in a state of self-loathing. He was bleeding out his uterus that he more often than not wished he didn’t have and hating every moment of it.  
  
Sighing and thumbing at the keys on his phone, he sent his reply back.  
  
“I’m sick : (((((” hoping somewhere in the back of his mind that the extra added parentheses would somehow convey just how deep Jean’s frown really was.  
  
The reply was almost instant, probably heightened by the fact that Jean told the other he was sick and Marco was such a good fucking person that he really cared. Jean ran his hand down his face, his stubbed nails clawing his cheeks in his aggravation. This guy really was too fucking perfect.  
  
“Ohh poor Jean, I’m sorry! Want some company? : )”  
  
Jean stared at the text with slightly narrowed eyes, rubbing his nose with the back of his wrist and positioning the hot water bottle better on his tummy, the skin already starting to bead little red dots from the heat.  
  
“Did he just apologize for me being sick?” Jean murmured out loud, slightly amused by the sheer politeness Marco possessed, as if Jean being sick was Marco’s fault that he had to amend somehow. But then he honed in on the last part of the text, complete with a smiley face of good will. His boyfriend—a term that Jean was still getting used to, never really having a real one before—was kindly offering to spend his time with Jean while he was in annoying frustrating pain. It was sweet, Jean hummed to himself, even if his brain began firing warning signals in the form of realistic reason.  
  
Jean was sitting in his sweat pants in a San Jose Sharks Hockey sweatshirt menstruating all over himself and basically looking like shit. He curled his lip up, more in a motion of unwarranted disgust for himself than anything else.  
  
But...he did owe Marco a real apology for the mishap a few nights before. Jean groaned, knowing that he had already made his decision, tucking his knees up and squishing the hot water bottle in the shape of a bunny to his gut. If he just played this off as a stomach cramp from eating too many of Connie’s homemade enchiladas then he should be good.  
  
Tapping at his phone he typed a quick message of, “get your ass over here, freckles”, and hit send. If he squealed three seconds later with the realization of what he just did and threw the phone away from him like a hot coal—then no one had to be the wiser.  
  
That was why thirty six minutes later, carrying a large styrofoam cup of Matzo Ball soup made fresh this morning from the restaurant and a six pack of seven-up and some Kleenex, Marco rang the doorbell.  
  
Jean, in his haste to stuff the hot water bottle under a couch cushion and make sure his binder straps weren’t showing, almost tripped twice on his way to the door. Shoving his hands over his hair to smooth it down and make it look presentable, he ripped open the door with a bright honest smile, happy to see the other and internally freaking the fuck out.  
  
Marco smiled back, seeming to be relieved that Jean didn’t look to bad, no head injuries, no missing limbs, and no doubled-over-coughing fits.  
  
Setting the food down on the small coffee table scattered with a few DVDs and Connie’s sketch books for his gallery work (really just doodles of less than anatomically correct dicks), Marco shrugged out of his coat, Jean grabbing it and setting it down on the back of a chair, feeling the seconds grow more and more awkward as he realized that Marco really thought he was sick-sick.  
  
Settling onto the couch, Jean curled his bare feet under his butt, nibbling on his lip at the silence that droned one. Marco himself looking torn between standing and sitting on the couch next to Jean.  
  
“It’s not contagious.” Jean blurted out suddenly, honestly telling the truth. Because there was no way in hell Marco was ever gonna catch his periodical bloodletting illness.  
  
“Ahh, good. In that case...” Marco hummed, sitting down on the couch just as easy as you please, his knee touching Jean’s own, the other’s smile as bright as Jean remembered before he saw it pull into a frown two days ago when Jean fled the car.  
  
“Some friends you have, didn’t even bring you any hot soup.” Marco laughed softly, reclining back into the couch that was still warm with Jean’s couch-mooching body heat.  
  
“Ahh, well, it’s not really serious, I mean, my stomach hurts a bit,” _a fucking lot — you’re bleeding out of your body, you jack ass_ , “but nothing to sound the alarms about.” Jean assured him with a slight bark of a laugh and a nod, curling closer in on himself as he squished his toes under the portioning couch cushions. Marco sighed, obviously relieved his boyfriend wasn’t dying from the flu or from some kind of vicious virus.  
  
For about two intensely awkward minutes they sat in silence, the TV whispering out the sad deplorable reason why Rudolph wasn’t allowed to play any reindeer games with the other deer—honestly, woodland animals could be complete dick bags. They both watched the screen with fake interest for a few minutes before Jean just needed the torture to end.  
  
Without a second of hesitation, though really, Jean should have thought this through, he shimmied over to Marco and pressed his lips to him, the other turning his head half way as if he anticipated the kiss a mile away. Marco, Jean thought, always seemed to be smooth like that.  
  
Jean had come to the conclusion quite early in their relationship that Marco’s kisses were the fucking best. They tasted like cinnamon and gingerbread, no doubt from all the decadent holiday-themed desserts the restaurant had been creating with care. They were soft too, but not innocently so. They were like soft presses of a lover’s fingers against your flesh, insistent but caring.  
  
Breaking free from the kiss, but letting Marco know he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, he buried his face against Marco’s neck, allowing his boyfriend to kiss and nip at his neck as he pleased. The tip of the other’s nose was still cold from the rainy weather outside and it made Jean chuckle and hum as it pressed to Jean’s feverishly hot skin that he bet smelled too much like thin mints and sweat, though it seemed Marco didn’t mind as he mouthed at every speck of flesh he could find.  
  
Jean was slightly aware that the more Marco used the nipping of his teeth to unwind Jean, the heavier his pantings and breathless moans grew. Jean wasn’t so sure it was because he was starved for lustful intimacy, it was more than likely that Marco was just really good at what he did and enjoyed doing it. Jean was especially aware of that by the way Marco’s hands, one on Jean’s hip and the other pressed palm flat on his stomach, were softly massaging Jean’s clothed skin. Jean groaned at the touch, a sound swallowed quickly down by Marco’s feverish kisses, fast but nonetheless intimate in their comforting giving.  
  
Jean swallowed down the fear bubbling low and thick in his stomach, his excitement and the jolt of his own arousal making his judgment more than cloudy. He was feeling good and wanted that every time he chased the taste of Marco’s mouth on his own, every time the other squeezed at his hip, Marco would whisper his name in panting breaths, like he was doing now.  
  
He knew he was not quite ready, especially in this way, for Marco to find out that Jean was not like most men, but he could barely make a noise of protest as Marco’s thumbs brushed the softness of his hipbones. Feeling Marco shift so that Jean himself was half on his lap, one of his knees being hugged by Marco’s thighs tightly and warmly, Jean stuttered out a groan that Marco replied to with a grin at his ear. Biting at the soft flesh, Marco softly rolled upward, Jean feeling just how affected the other had been with their languid and long over-do make out session.  
  
Jean hummed happily as the two ground lazily against each other, Jean drowning out the whimsical noise from the TV in favor of honing in on the shuttering pants huffing out from Marco’s lips as pleasantly as cheerful laughs. He was slightly aware to the fact that Marco had graciously allowed Jean to take it at his pace, the two-toned blond kneeling over the other and rocking against the slowly hardening tent in the other’s pants, Jean feeling happily bemused that the other was as effected by their ministrations as he was.  
  
But that was where Jean should have realized how dangerous this in fact was, his hands cupping the soft black hair at the nape of Marco’s neck, his pants of “ohs” and “ahs” almost matching Marco’s perfectly. With a greedily jolt of his hips downward, Jean realized a main exact difference between he and Marco that wasn’t necessarily bad, but that seemed to instantly clue Marco in on the fact that something was indeed very....distinct...between the two.  
  
Marco had been feverishly enjoying the feel of the other on top of him, Jean’s wiry body complimenting his broader, bigger frame. He was elated to find that Jean this time initiated close intimacy, as Marco had been worried that perhaps Jean didn’t like Marco in that way or that he just didn’t find the other attractive. Marco would have gladly given Jean his space if he needed more time to be comfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling relieved each time the other reassuringly rocked his hips against Marco’s knee, trying to find friction that Marco too was chasing and searching for.  
  
It was amazing how Jean made him feel, both in his mind, heart, and body—but... Marco paused, panting against the column of Jean’s throat that he had previously been nuzzling.  
  
Something didn’t quite feel right.  
  
If Jean had not been thinking with his already wet dick, he’d quickly realize that he at that moment misplaced his other, rubber, dick. The Mr. Limpy flaccid four inch that he usually trusted to stuff his pants just right, was sitting on his dresser right at that very moment. It was just a hygienic rule that Jean himself abided by, choosing to not deal with wearing a packer when it was dragged into the throes of his shark week.  
  
However, he honestly wished he had it on right now, because already Marco’s mind was blaring out warning signs at how, yeah, his boyfriend seemed to be really into this moment right now, but his lack of a bulge in his pants was definite cause for alarm.  
  
Panicked thoughts such as, “Is he not into me?” and “He’s blushing and grinding against me, though, and he looks like he’s interested?!” Marco was taught to never impose and to never assume that someone was interested in you, a lesson and teaching no one technically gave him but one he picked up on himself. He was slightly tall, dark and freckle skinned, with a bit of pudge on his broad body and he was used to people taking advantage of him because of these factors that they deemed unusual and he deemed perfectly acceptable—but he never himself wanted to take advantage of another, like he in that moment thought he was doing with Jean.  
  
With a shaking in his breathing that seemed to constrict his lungs, Marco clenched softly at Jean’s hip, stilling the next pleasurable roll of the other’s hips that Marco himself thought Jean wasn’t enjoying—but oh was he entirely wrong on that.  
  
Stilling himself and widening his eyes to the fact that Marco had stopped the other with a worried furrowed look, Jean opened his mouth to say anything. To question why they had stopped, to apologize if he was doing anything the other disliked, to blurt out that Marco was amazing at this and Jean was enjoying himself, but he never spoke.  
  
Instead, he let Marco slide him off of his knee, settling Jean down on the couch with a softness to his hands that made Jean want to cry.  
  
What had he done wrong?  
  
“Um, if you’re not into it, into me... I can totally just leave. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable...” Marco spoke, his words soft and scared and in that moment Jean finally realized what the problem was.  
  
Biting his bottom lip with his teeth to keep the rolling embarrassed laughter from tumbling forth from his lips and failing miserably, Jean barked out a wheezing cackle that caused his entire face to explode red with a blush. His lungs throbbed behind his rib cage, the tight material of the binder protesting under the strain of his giggles from the other’s words. Marco, previously stunned, lowered his eyes as if he was shamed, his eye brows knitted together in hurt that spoke volumes of uncomfortably. The look finally caused Jean to heel his absurd laughter and calm down, for Marco’s sake.  
  
“You? Make me uncomfortable?” Jean wiped the tears from his eyes, curbing his laughing smile into a soft quirk of one. At the mellowing of Jean’s expression, Marco ripped his eyes from his hands pooled at his lap, staring at Jean with the cutest look of confusion Jean thought he had ever seen.  
  
“Dude, I’ve been wanting your hands on me for days now.” Jean admitted, sitting up, his knees digging into the sinking cushions of the couch that was still warm with each other’s lingering body heat. Marco’s face lifted, a slow pink tinting his cheeks that Jean found he completely adored.  
  
“Really? So then you’re not… uh…” Marco furrowed his brows, trying his best to figure out the most delicate of word choices. Jean cleared his throat gently.  
  
“Unresponsive?” He spoke, Marco instantly nodded at the offered word.  
  
“Yeah.” He said, the word soft on his lips that were still bitten plump from kissing.  
  
“Well… uh, y’see…” Jean’s eyes were hesitant as they searched Marco’s face for any hardness, but all he found was gentle kind of relief that smoothed out his freckles and aided his half crooked smile. Jean huffed out a sigh.  
  
“Are you asexual? Because if that’s it, that’s totally cool, I respect that — we can work out any boundaries you want, just say the word and I’ll—” Marco licked his lips, his words more jumbled than he wanted them to be, but then Jean’s hands came to grasp at his own. The flesh was warm and soothing and it calmed Marco’s ramblings.  
  
“Marco, Marco, I’m not asexual.” Jean bit his lip, Marco’s own eyes turning wide and owlish.  
  
“Oh? Oh.” Marco furrowed his brow. Jean could actually see the other’s brain trying to come up with a solution to Jean’s apparent lack of physical interest. Jean felt at that moment that it was now or never.  
  
“No, look it’s just… Uh.” Jean felt his throat close up. This was going to be hard to say, hard to admit. Jean closed his eyes tight and squeezed one of Marco’s hands, feeling the other reassuringly squeeze back. Jean made a slight pained noise in the back of his throat, still hating how surprised he was at just how brilliantly amazing Marco was. Of course he was amazing. Jean took a stuttering breath.  
  
Thrusting the surprised freckled man’s hand up his sweatshirt and Metallica shirt, Jean pressed his boyfriends flattened palm to Jean’s stiff and compressed binder.  
  
On touching the tight fabric, Marco’s shocked face broke into confusion, his beautiful brown eyes staring at Jean, looking for answers. Jean bit his lip near to bleeding, maneuvering Marco’s stiff fingers to map out the planes and shape of the binder to give an even bigger hint to who Jean really was.  
  
As soon as Jean felt the pad of Marco’s fingers graze the looped clasps of the restricting cloth, realization began to dawn on his freckled face.  
  
“Oh…” He said quietly, hand hot where it was pressed to Jean’s chest.  
  
Jean squirmed as he unhanded Marco’s wrist, the other slowly sliding his hand out and under the now sweltering clothes that Jean wore. Swallowing thickly in his throat, neck flushed, Jean pursed his lips.  
  
“Yeah…” He breathed softly, eyes searching Marco’s careful calculating ones as he tried to absorb all that had just changed in a few seconds.  
  
“Oh…” Marco said again, eyes still wide in quiet shock, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
Jean let a wobbly sight slip past his forced smile. The realization that this could either end salvageable, or really quite terrible, settled in his mind in that instant.  
  
It was all on Marco now.


	6. I Only Have Eyes For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie honestly needed to be appreciated more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special and oh-so-thankful thanks to Carsan, my sister, friend, editor, and co-writer. Thank you so much you lovely little shit.  
> ...  
> tw: menstration, tw: tampon use...only not in the way you think...heh

Jean tried to not let the fact that Marco was fidgeting in his seat tremendously get to him. He himself knew that this was a raw bit of information that he had just dropped on the other, and it was visible from the way that Marco tensed and kept chewing the inside of his cheek that the freckled man was trying to figure out just the best way to react.  
  
Jean honestly thought this was going, well, better than he expected—Marco hadn’t thrown anything at him, yelled in his face in an outcry of betrayal, or even left the apartment. The clenched hands at his lap though concerned the two-toned blond, though it was more an instinctual fear that came with being trans, always fearful for a mixed reaction that could turn very wrong very fast. There was just something horrific in waiting for an explosion of rejection.  
  
But Marco only flinched and flexed his fist, thumbs touching each other as he stared at his hands for a long time, Jean patient and quiet, letting Marco take it all in. It was a waiting game that Jean honestly didn’t want to play, but he felt like Marco deserved as much.  
  
He really liked the guy, after all.  
  
Marco, calm and quiet, then unclenched his fists, his palms open, limp on his denim clad thighs. He seemed to be studying them, and if Jean didn’t know any better he’d think Marco was reading his own palm, studying every indent and blotch of freckles, trying to discern the future or his fate from just those few inches of flesh that were only a few minutes ago warmly comforting Jean, holding him tightly and with urgency.  
  
With a quiet pained noise that Marco made in the back of his throat, barely audible to Jean’s ears, he sighed and slumped back. Pursing his lips as Jean watched him with widening eyes, Marco cupped one of his hands, warm palm flat to the left side of his, and held it there for a few seconds before he seemed to come to some resolution.  
  
Jean was about to open his mouth, to question what the other was doing but before he could even whisper out the softness of the other’s name, Marco had trailed his long strong fingers to the fluttering softly closed skin of his eyelid.  
  
With a thumb poised along the bridge of his nose, buried into the coarseness of his eyebrows that made his face all the more handsome in Jean’s opinion, he began to work his fingers in some twisting probing dance. With a noise that Jean could not so much as hear but feel from the way it made his mouth part open, Marco brought his palm back to join the other, both of them resting on his lap.  
  
Only now, as Jean peeled his gaze downward from the other’s fluttering eyelid with dark lashes framing the pinkness of the bared skin, he spied something shiny and soft looking in his boyfriend’s hand—if Jean could still call Marco his boyfriend, assuming the other still wanted to be with him.  
  
It looked like a smoothed stone, the shape almost soft looking, moldable in Marco’s hand that was shaking from nervousness. It was lopsided, like a puddled bit of glass painted in the exquisite colors and form of a dark brown eye. Jean could, if he stared hard enough at it, pick out the streaks of honeyed brown streaks blended into the molten rust red of the iris.  
  
Jean had to admit he was slowly trying to not freak out from the fact that the man that he loved dearly before him had just taken out his goddamn eye right after Jean’s less than ceremonial confession to his trans identity. It seemed like something out of a strange sitcom, though Jean wasn’t totally conceited enough to say that his life was interesting enough to warrant an entire cable TV program about him...but, then again, his boyfriend was holding his eye in his hand, so...  
  
Jean couldn’t even squeal or cringe like he wanted to, content to just stare with a dumbfounded kind of slack-jawed look that was an imitation of the look people gave him when he told them he was trans. Marco was giving Jean his own kind of disclosure, and Jean didn’t want to be cruel to the other’s truth, choosing to watch as the other rolled the lumpy and funnily shaped piece of glass in his hand.  
  
It was only when after the fourth tumble against the smoothness of his palms that Jean had come to love caressing his cheek in these past months that Marco laughed nervously. Holding the delicate object that looked like tiny island of cream white and dotted speckles of brown with veined rivers of red, Marco popped it back in its rightful place, snug and secure. Jean stared mesmerized at the other’s gaze, finding a truth now in Marco each time he looked at him, just as now Marco would find Jean’s truth each time he looked his way.  
  
Jean wasn’t going to lie, it was unnerving as hell to watch Marco slide his eye back into place, blinking slight with his nose upturned as if he was adjusting his gaze to the heat of an intense sun, stilling when he locked the shiny little glass pebble back into place.  
  
“I honestly have no idea why I just did that, it just, uh, seemed like the right thing to do.” Marco spoke, his gaze returning to his hands for the fifth time today. His voice was shy and it just about melted any reservations Jean had at that moment, grabbing Marco’s hands gentle and rubbing his thumb along the other’s knuckles like Marco favored doing for him. Jean loved the way Marco seemed to relax into his posture, the uneasiness rolling off his body like waves that wouldn’t return, not if Jean could help it.  
  
Jean knew exactly why Marco did that, exactly why. Uniqueness was a scary thing to share, but with Marco’s disclosure, Jean had been given an unbreakable sense of trust that came with a sense of difference that most other people perceived as brokenness. Jean knew he wasn’t broken and Marco seemed to understand that of himself, too. It was almost like they were thanking each other for showing themselves in their truest form that they would forever see. It wasn’t confessional, it was unapologetic sharing of truths.  
  
“So, then, you’re not mad?” Jean mumbled out with a slight wavering to his voice that had Marco’s formerly quiet eyes gazing up at Jean with a quick snap of wideness. Jean thought he’d never see Marco’s eyes the same again, there were more beautiful to him than ever.  
  
His faced twisted in a motion of humorous disbelief, Marco laughed. “Mad?! Why the hell would I be mad? Jean, I still love you, that’s not going to change—I mean, unless you like kill someone and ask me to help you hide the body, I mean, that might put a damper on our relationship—” At the hinting of Marco’s continued ramble that would more likely than not be non-stop, Jean unlaced his fingers around Marco’s hands to grab at the side of the other’s soft cheeked face. Leaning into a kiss that deepened with Marco’s lips nudging into Jean’s, the two-toned blond made a happy noise as he practically crawled onto the other’s lap. Marco, warm hands and all, was quick to hug Jean towards him, humming into the kiss that cut him off from his feverish ramblings pleasantly.  
  
It was only with the need for air that they parted, Jean relaxing against Marco’s chest, the other’s hands soft and shy as they stroked Jean’s back.  
  
“What was tha—?” Marco was about to question when Jean smiled.  
  
“You said you loved me.” He blinked, eyes narrowing playfully as he stared at Marco’s own owlish gaze, watching the smooth features of his handsome brown face blush with a deepening hue.  
  
Marco pursed his lips in a tight line before he nodded, face burning hot and red, sure that Jean himself could feel the heat from his cheeks. “I...I did. Is that okay?” Marco mumbled, soft lines of worry etched on his face that Jean wished to kiss away.  
  
“Is that okay, he asks.” Jean chuckled, easing himself into the other’s arms, snuggling tightly against Marco’s collarbone, the other’s skin bared from his shifting t-shirt warm to the touch. Wrapping his wiry arms around Marco’s neck, he sighed happily, a noise that was echoed by Marco’s own hum of contentment.  
  
Holding tightly onto his boyfriend who was practically draped over half of his body, Marco chuckled, his chin resting on the slightly coarse hair of Jean’s head.  
  
“I love you too, you know…” Jean mumbled, sniffing silently into the air of the apartment that no longer smelled like stale stiff coldness but instead of the spicy warmth that Marco brought into the living area, the smell of stiff gingerbread baking and of the carefully mulled honey-tobacco scent of his shampoo.  
  
At the words that the other whispered into the room, Marco let out a stuttered breath of relief, his body fully relaxing against the plush crook of the couch arm, snuggling deeper into the sinking cushion that seemed to want to swallow the both of them into its distasteful patterned exterior.  
  
“Oh thank God.” He laughed, Jean delighting in the noise, realizing he wanted to hear it more often.  
Jean hummed his delight as well with another nuzzle, his contented smile quickly turning into a smirk that reached his eyes and made them gleam.  
  
“Also, think you could put one of your eyes in Jaeger’s shot glass next time we go out — it’d make him piss his pants.” Jean cackled softly, earning an amused huff from Marco as he nested deeper into the couch, his hand making soft petting motions at the small of Jean’s back, Jean himself able to hear the steady thump of his heartbeat and taking great selfish pleasure in thinking that perhaps it beat happily because of love.  
  
“It honestly doesn’t freak ‘em out as much as you’d think.” Marco hummed mischievously, his words causing Jean to gasp out with the beginnings of a stomach aching laugh.  
  
Raising himself from Marco’s hug to stare at the laughing eyes of his boyfriend, Jean widened his own gaze. “No — not freckled Jesus! You’ve played cruel and unusual tricks on people?” He accused of the other, Marco’s lips splitting into a devilish grin that made Jean’s heart hurt it was so handsome. Slipping a single index finger to his lip, Marco’s eyes glittered in an amusement that held the promising of a good laugh.  
  
“Go take a nap, when you wake up I’ll tell you all about how I once made Mina jump fifteen feet in the air when we were making chilled butternut squash soup at the restaurant and she came across my eye in one of the bowls.” Marco grinned at the fond memory, causing Jean to snort and roll his eyes. The two-toned blond could feel the tension that was previously in the room no more, as if it never existed, wiped away with their laugher and lazy rainy day cuddles. Jean couldn’t wait for more days like these, perfect days with Marco.  
  
“I’m holding you to that story, Freckles.” Jean mumbled with a little bit of a bark, causing Marco to grab him into a warm and inviting hug which Jean couldn’t even protest to.  
  
“Sleep first.” Marco yawned, the two’s disclosure session clearly taking a toll on the both of them as they sleepily nestled into each other’s arms, the lack of hiding and the initiation of each other’s truths letting peaceful sleep wash over them.  
  
It was one of the most comfortable moments they had ever had with each other in their young relationship and they cherished it completely.  
  
...  
  
The sky was angry and purple with storm clouds by the time the two unwillingly woke up.  
  
The sound of keys jingling and a door being maneuvered without a lack of muttered cussing caused their dreamy heavy sleep to be disrupted, the shrill voice of their own personal alarm clock announcing his arrival to the apartment.  
  
Soaking wet and carrying three heavy plastic bags of groceries, Connie shook out his umbrella that didn’t seem to do him much good from the walk to and back from the store across from his gallery where he worked as evident from his rain pattered sweatshirt.  
  
Marco was the first to wake up with a start, staring at the bright surroundings of the apartment for a moment, the sounds of a Harry Potter marathon wavering into his ears as he realized where he was and why his left leg was numb, Jean pinning it to the sunken couch with his bared hip.  
  
Connie, who was shuffling in the kitchen, hummed a much too loud version of Beyoncé’s song Diva, seemingly to be unaware that his friend had company.  
  
Jean woke with a little less freshness in appearance when compared to his boyfriend, his hair in matted tuffs and a connection of cold drool from the corner of his still kiss puffy lips to the collar of Marco’s star wars shirt. A soft spit stain seeped onto the design of a storm troopers head, Marco not even minding as he rubbed at Jean’s shoulder to ease him into awareness, Jean looking quite cranky at being woken up.  
  
“Jeaaaaaaaan! Sing my praises, tell me I am like, the best roommate ever!” Connie suddenly yelled as he shuffled out of his wet bright red goulashes that everyone knew he stole from Sasha. Yanking his pocketed car keys from his skinny jeans, he threw them into a little glass bowl that he made last summer—little cartoon dicks stained on the sides of it almost delicately, framed by garlands of grapes that represented testes. Truly, Connie was an artist of his time.  
  
Jean rubbed his knuckles into his eyes, mumbling out a halfhearted threat about Connie and his lack for quiet entrances. Grabbing at the backing of the couch and shuffling next to Marco he turned to see Connie fishing his hands into one of the plastic bags, pawing around it till he produced a large squishy package decorated lightly in purples and reds. He smiled at his find, not even looking towards the couch where unbeknownst to him, Marco was seated with Jean.  
  
“I got the tampons you wanted — the cool ones with the shark commercial on TV!” He came round the kitchen corner, a smile on his lips as he raised his head to meet Jean’s eyes...and Marco’s.  
  
Within a flash, his smile suddenly morphed into gaping horror as he stared at Jean’s less than pleased face and Marco’s sheepish smile.  
  
Connie dropped the grocery bag on the floor with a harsh thud, a can of soup rolling from its crinkled opening as Connie erupted into the most horrendously shrill nervous laughter the two on the couch had ever heard. Jean himself was quietly amused by the way Connie’s left eye started to twitch uncontrollably as if he had some foreseen notion that he was now a dead man.  
  
“AHAHAHAH —I MEAN. Holy shit, Marco, buddy, pal’ o’ mine, how long have you been sitting there? Did I say Jean’s tampons? Hah. I meant…uh……” Connie suddenly stopped, his voice squeaking as he swiftly bent down to retrieve the dumped bag with intense haste.  
  
“We use them for nosebleeds!” Connie suddenly squawked, ripping the gaudy tampon bag open with the stubs of his nails and clumsily unwrapping one of the tubes. Before anyone could stop him, he shoved the cotton tube up his nose, the other nostril flaring with his heavy panting, face bright red.  
  
“Owww… I mean, works like a charm!” Connie giggled nervously again, his eyes watering from the pain of having a cardboard and cotton tampon shoved up so high in his nose he thought it was touching his brain. He feared if he sneezed he might explode.  
  
Sitting up and sliding out of Marco’s warm side hug, Jean crawled off the other’s body with elbows that creaked.  
  
Heaving himself up and off the couch with an annoyed huff, Jean sluggishly wobbled over to his idiotic friend.  
  
“Gimmie those…” He grumbled sourly, snatching the plastic covered box of the tampons and shoving them under his arm. Connie instantly winced, anticipating a Kirschtein noogie aimed right at his shiny and rain shimmering shaved head. From the couch Marco watched on with amusement and sympathy for Connie.  
  
Jean’s eyes narrowed as he watched Connie’s nervously jittery form, the two-toned blond mumbling a quip of “dumbass,” under his breath as he stalked toward the hallway, his bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. Slamming the bathroom door firmly closed, he entreated the two in the living room to tense confused silence that had Connie practically vibrating with bewilderment.  
  
It only took Connie about three seconds to regain his composure and close his mouth shut with a click. With his sharp russet eyes narrowed and tears beginning to form at their corners from tampon induced pain, he glared at a meek smiling Marco.  
  
“You knew…” He hissed accusingly, jabbing a pointed finger dramatically at Marco.  
  
The other just smiled sheepishly, looking down to the floor with sympathetic kind eyes before he gazed back up at Connie, trying his damnedest not to laugh at the comical face of betrayal and anguish that met his gaze.  
  
“Yep.” Marco shrugged, his goofy smile still on his lips.  
  
Connie nodded to himself, obviously mulling over this new found bit of information. With hands brought to his hips, he sniffed, quickly wincing in slight pain at the lodged cotton stuck up his nose.  
  
“Okay, well, thank God…” Connie huffed, rummaging through the flattened grocery bag clutched in his hand before he plucked out a small bag of bitter sweet chocolate chips.  
  
“Then that means you’re on chocolate and Friends marathon duty. We’re on the episode where Chandler and Monica get married, part one.” Connie tossed the bag of chips to a chuckling Marco who caught it with a grin.  
  
With eyes that flickered with amusement, he sat up from the creaking couch and cradled the bag of chocolate to his chest with one hand, walking to the kitchen to rummage around the cupboards to find Sasha’s cooking supplies. Connie watched with half interest as Marco set out half a watermelon and a small basket of strawberries on a cutting board, next clicking on the gas stoves blue flame and setting a pan of water to boil.  
  
Sure that Marco could take care of himself in the foreign kitchen, Connie lightly tugged at the cotton string tickling his lips.  
  
“I’m gonna’ go claw this thing out of my nose before it leads to permanent brain damage.” Connie wheezed, his fingers flicking at the string.  
  
“TOO LATE.” Jean called suddenly from behind the bathroom wall, causing Connie to grumble and stumble out of the living room and into the hallway now toasty and warm from the radiator.  
  
“DUDE, I STUCK A FUCKING TAMPON UP MY NOSE FOR YOU.” He pounded on the bathroom door with his small little fists, earning chuckling cackles from Jean behind the egg-shell white painted door.  
  
“OH FUCK YOU! THAT WAS TRUE FRIENDSHIP RIGHT THERE….” Connie shouted back, then, as an afterthought, “I’M GONNA’ EAT THE LAST OF YOUR BANANA NUT MUFFINS, YOU BUTTMUNCH.” Connie shouted, his shrill voice even causing Marco to wince, settling a small metal bowl over the lightly boiling pan of hot water.  
  
A bang and a curse from behind the door was heard before Jean shouted back with a warning quip, “you better not, Springer, or else you will never live down this little nose adventure of yours!” Jean warned, running the faucet in the bathroom.  
  
Connie only huffed with a conceding smirk before he mockingly slumped to his room, muttering about finding his tweezers to get this cottony-plastic shit out of his nose.  
  
From the kitchen Marco could only laugh and stir the slowly melting chocolate in the little metal bowl, setting aside a portion of the cubed watermelon and halved strawberries for Connie once he had dipped them in chocolate—the guy honestly deserved it for sticking a god damn tampon up his nose to protect his friend’s identity.  
  
Scooping up the now cold and untouched soup he had brought, he popped it in the microwave as well, knowing Jean would be extremely hungry when he came back from doing god knows what, Marco thought, knowing he would soon have to learn about all the things that made Jean unique.  
  
But he found that he didn’t mind that, not one bit. Learning about Jean had so far been amazing, and he had been able to learn quite a lot about himself in the process. It wouldn’t be a hardship so much as he knew it would be hard.  
  
Smiling as he stirred the chocolate, he sighed happily as he felt someone come up to hug him from behind. Jean’s arms wrapped snug around his middle as his nose pressed to Marco’s shoulder, watching the other slowly stir and dip the washed and patted dried fruit in the sweet melting goodness.  
  
“I love you.” Jean hummed, the words soft and meaningful and Marco found himself leaning against the other’s chest and into the other’s comfort.  
  
“I love you, too.” Marco sighed with a tenderness to his voice that had Jean close his eyes and burry his nose into Marco’s shirt, enjoying the warmth of the other and the sweet scent of chocolate.  
  
In that quiet moment they both felt a gentle but no less significant realization of what this was—that their shared secrets not only allowed them to love each other, but also to love themselves, a feeling that would stay with them forever.


End file.
